


To The Grave

by sensibleshroom



Series: To The Grave [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Fix-It, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, I mean a LOT of denial, M/M, Mentions of Underage, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Torture, Uvogin bashing, and by slow burn I mean we are gonna be here for awhile, gratuitous ging bashing, gratuitous murders of pedos, hisoka is undercover, i am a bad writer, im sorry, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-07-28 12:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 73
Words: 237,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20064025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensibleshroom/pseuds/sensibleshroom
Summary: Hisoka isn't who he says he is. In fact, one could say Hisoka has a secret. A very big secret, and if it gets out, everything is going to come tumbling down around him.A/N: This fic takes place about three years after York New auction. It doesn't follow continuity to the T, but the Dark Continent arc never happened, and Gon has been without his Nen for nine months, and Chrollo has had his back for a year.A/N: rape, incest, and pedophilia is mentioned and alluded to but there are no specific rape/pedophilic scenes in this fic. Chapters are tagged with severe triggers with full synopses at the end.COMPLETED





	1. The Hacker and The Guard

_“A secret left unsaid is a knife left unsheathed.”_

Simple.

Simple is what things were meant to be for Chrollo. Simple, easy, definent. He always came out on top, regardless of consequences, because he kept things simple. Hisoka wanted a fight? Then Hisoka found Chrollo’s Nen. Chrollo wanted money? Then Chrollo stole. Chrollo needed food? Then Chrollo ate. Chrollo needed sleep? Then Chrollo slept.

Simplicity was something his opponents underestimated again and again and again. They didn’t understand the power of simplicity. All of them were caught up in their own confusion, their revenge, their hunger for blood, their needs that surpassed their abilities. Chrollo kept things simple, and that was why his spiders were so, so very loyal. Because he cut through the confusion of their lives, the confusion of existence, and gave them a simple creed: If there is something to be stolen, you take. If there is power you lack, you gain it. If you die, then you embrace it.

Simple.

Perhaps it was that mantra that led him here now. In the months following his Nen restoration, Chrollo had become, well, bored. Simplicity was nice and all, but the recovery had taken longer than he anticipated. He had to relearn all of the basics, build himself up to be even stronger than before, and now he needed a true challenge to his abilities. A simple theft would not do. He needed someone to fight. So when Edwin Vanguard reached out, a previous client, with the promise of a rare artifact in exchange for the capture of some thorn in his side, Chrollo had accepted.

Next to nothing was known of his opponent, which he appreciated, and the details were unclear as to if it was one or two. Perhaps a copy ability. Edwin had informed him that whoever it was, they were stealing data off of the computers of “various colleagues”, whatever that meant, erasing any and all camera footage of their presence, and disappearing without a trace. Most men who saw them in the flesh were dead, and the two known survivors were both in comas, and unable to provide a description.

Edwin was likely more than up to the task of facing off with these hackers himself, but the man hated to get his hands dirty. Chrollo didn’t particularly appreciate that about him. In fact, there was a lot about the man that Chrollo didn’t appreciate. He was a creep, with a lot of rumors surrounding him, and Machi detested his very presence. Which is why, coincidentally, he brought her along. He liked to see lesser men squirm. It pleased him.

So, here they were, in a state of Zetsu, in an almost empty manor, lounging about in the office.

“If they manage to get the flash drive, destroy it,” Edwin had warned Chrollo. Chrollo didn’t much care for the drive, or whatever shady dealings Edwin was playing at that warranted this vigilante justice being leveled against him, so he had simply ignored his squirming. Whatever made him happy, he supposed. He just wanted the sarcophagus.

“I feel like whoever these guys are, they’re too good to walk into such an obvious trap,” Machi finally said, quietly, as quietly as she could manage.

“Or they’re the type that like to spring them,” Chrollo countered. So far, there had been not a single whiff of their presence. It almost had his feathers ruffled, but beneath that, he was almost … Excited wasn’t the word here. Bloodthirsty, perhaps. Yes, bloodthirsty. Had he not been in Zetsu, it would have been oozing off of him. It had been so long since he had a hunt, even if this was going to be so shortlived.

“Do you think so? They seem cautious.”

“Cautious men don’t go up against the mafia, Machi.”

“I suppose so. I wonder what information they’re gathering that the Hunter Association doesn’t already have. It seems off.”

“Maybe they like high stakes gambling.”

The two fell silent at that, watching the minutes count down on the clock above the desk. Almost midnight. Edwin had hired them out until three am. The supposed duo had three hours to show.

Chrollo felt it a few minutes after the clock struck twelve. A slight shift, almost imperceptible, a very good attempt to hide one’s presence. Slightly, he sat up, not letting his Zetsu drop just yet. If he did he could get a better read but …

It didn’t matter. The door to the study creaked open, and there was the distinct plop of a single drop of liquid falling to the ground. Blood. He had heard nothing. No screams, no fighting, then …

The door opened further, and there the elusive guests were. Possibly Machi’s height, maybe shorter, clad in black, identical stances, identical build, identical height. Their hair was covered by some sort of silk wrap that swung around to hide their lower faces, and the only discernible difference to be found was white and black lashes and brows. Other than that, nothing. Ice blue, nearly silver eyes fixed on him and Machi, and the two shifted into a defensive position in perfect unison.

Chrollo dropped the Zetsu just as their Nen flared. Black, twisted, swirling about the two in a figure eight. Shared Nen. So a copy ability? No? It didn’t look like a copy ability. Both were emanating Nen. One was not strictly going into the other. They were feeding each other. He hadn't seen that one before. He wanted to steal it.

“You’re late,” Chrollo said softly, and the room exploded.

Shadows took form and lashed out as one leapt over the desk, a flash drive in one bloody hand, sliding behind the computer. Not distracted from their goals, then.

Chrollo and Machi didn’t need to communicate. As one, they swept out in a pincher movement, Machi moving to slam the French doors shut as Chrollo made for the one behind the computer. Shadow … was it shadow? Were they Manipulators? Emitters? Lashed out from beneath the desk and knocked him back, Machi following soon after. Had it hit weaker Ko, his ribcage would have been crushed on impact. They weren’t showing their Ten yet. This was a problem. The one behind the computer already had the drive in, and was tapping away furiously, brows furrowed intently. The one in front of him stood stalwart, not even moving to attack.

Defense. They only cared about defense.

The French doors were shut. He just had to shut the office door, and then he could … Oh, who was he kidding? Machi was with him.

“That was a nice greeting,” Chrollo stated, low and cool. “How about a proper one. Our client would like to get to know you."

The one before the desk stared at him, their eyes devoid of any expression.

“Silent killers, then?" Machi’s thread started soaring about the room. Their aura grew, and shadowy tentacles lashed about, knocking the threads in every which way except behind the desk. Very brave of them, to leave just one to face them. It would seem they didn’t watch the news.

“It is very stupid of you to think just one of you can take us on,” Machi said sharply, and the one in front of the desk narrowed their eyes, only slightly. It was then that Chrollo caught it. The figure eight he had noticed before was tapering behind the desk, and swelling around the guard. Oh, very clever. Excellent Nen control. He almost wanted to recruit them.

“It doesn't matter either way,” Chrollo pointed out, watching Machi from the corner of his eye as she caught on. The hacker was virtually defenseless, putting all of their trust in the guard. A very foolish mistake to make.

Machi let her Nen swell significantly, choking the room out of any essence, and the guard shifted their foot into a stance, ready to attack. They still had yet to say anything. Intriguing. An attack was going to launch soon, but who would make the first move? Chrollo focused, his Gyo lighting up, as he scanned for gaps in their armor. If he was correct, whatever ability they had was a near perfect defense and offense. It could appear at any moment, drown out the room so you couldn’t see it coming, and if it was grabbed when acting as a defense, it could just dissipate and swing in for a counter attack. They had trained very hard. They must have had an excellent teacher.

Oh. Now that was a gap. And intense Nen control. The two seemed to have woven nen throughout their pelvises, inside of their bodies. Perhaps they had broken them? He couldn’t tell at first glance. Why were they identical?

“Machi. Aim for the pelvises.”

“Aim for the pelvises and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

A sharp, singsong voice cut through the heady haze, and if Chrollo had it in him to be surprised, he would have jerked back. But, no. Instead his head snapped to the tall, tall redhead leaning in the doorway, face done up in fresh paint and looking for all the world like he was ready for battle as his In dropped around them to display a bloodlust unlike Chrollo had ever seen him display previously.

He hadn’t seen the magician in a year. He wasn’t expecting to see him here, but isn’t that was what Hisoka was? A wrecking ball programmed to your most inopportune moments?

“Hisoka,” Machi snarled, but Chrollo held up a hand. This was getting interesting.

“Were you waiting for me to leave Meteor City?”

Hisoka laughed, a tinkling giggle, and his eyes gleamed bright in the low light.

“My, my, Chrollo. I never thought you would be the egotistical one.”

“So you’re after them.”

There was that telltale glint in his eye. He’s about to lie.

“Of course.”

“And if I kill them first?”

“You won’t get the chance.”

Now that wasn’t a lie. Something dangerous flickered in the jester’s eyes, murderous, a different kind than he normally displayed. Not unlike a mother protecting her cubs. Chrollo’s eyes flicked back to the two, just as the hacker reached forward and pulled out the drive. Blood was all over the pristine white keyboard now. It looked rather nice.

“Nox, Nyx,” Hisoka said softly, and Chrollo’s eyes snapped back to him. “Remember your promise. Go. I’ll slow them down.”

“They’re not going to just go,” Machi snapped and Hisoka’s gaze went back to her.

“You don’t have a say in the matter.”

Chrollo wasn’t sure he had never seen Hisoka speak to Machi in such a dismissive manner. Just what was going on here?

His thoughts had strayed too far from his target, and suddenly there was a burst of Nen, shadows swelling and exploding to throw him and Machi into the wall, crashing through into the hallway, where they were met with a trail of blood up the stairs.

Nox.

Nyx.

It would seem Hisoka had found himself a pair of murderous twins.

The twins he wasn’t certain he could beat without being forced to kill them, and their client had preferred them alive if at all possible, but Hisoka?

Hisoka he could subdue easily, and if he was right in his current assessment, they would come running for him.

There was the sound of glass breaking, and faintly, motorcycle engines being revved up, and he let it go in an instant as a lost cause.

Grimacing slightly, he climbed to his feet and finally, finally pulled out his book.

“Change of plans, Machi,” he said shortly to his subordinate as she climbed up, irritation rolling off of her in waves. “We’re capturing Hisoka. Alive.”

“Dear Chrollo, don’t you remember?” Hisoka stepped daintily through the wreckage, and Chrollo dimly noticed he had gone from kitten heels to stilettos at some point in the year long hiatus to their fight. “I intend to die in combat. Can you really stop me from pushing you to granting me that?”

“You want to die less than you let on, Hisoka. Don’t you remember? You can’t lie to me.”

A grin spread across Hisoka’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If me dying keeps you from killing them before they finish their task, I am gladly willing to accept that price.”

Chrollo let his lips quirk only just. The price he had for Hisoka and his betrayal was far, far higher than anything the jester could imagine. He couldn’t wait to collect his debts.


	2. The Spider and the Magic Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Hisoka's capture, Chrollo has been left with more questions than answers. Just how does one torture a man that lives and breathes for pain?

_ “A beaten man has nothing left to lose.” _

Chrollo was, admittedly, something of a sadist. But even a blind man would know Hisoka looked better when he was beaten black and blue and blissfully, thankfully, silent. At that precise moment, Hisoka was silent because he was completely unconscious, slumped against his bonds tethering him to a pillar. Recently, Chrollo had acquired a set of handcuffs that forced the wearer into Zetsu, and wasn’t  _ this  _ a momentous occasion to use them.

All of Hisoka’s hair products had sweated out, making brilliant red hair fall flat and greasy around his face. He’d been stripped to the waist so Machi could stop the bleeding, long enough to keep him alive, and Chrollo took the brief moment of victory to thoroughly study the irritating, endless creature.

Torturing secrets out of him wouldn’t work. Hisoka was more twisted and vile than anyone in the troupe, and pain only served to bring him closer to ecstasy. Chrollo could, of course, opt for the long way. Keeping him awake for days on end, with little food or water, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t work as well as it did on others. Pleasure, perhaps, but Chrollo wasn’t really inclined to give him such niceties. He would have to find some kind of Specialist like Pakunoda, who could draw out the memories and get his information that way. Even if Hisoka wasn’t allied with the twins, (he had decided they were twins), he likely knew something of importance.

They could strike a deal, but … He wasn’t so sure. Hisoka had seemed awfully protective of the two. 

_ “I am gladly willing to accept that price.” _

What had that meant? Hisoka had some form of stake in the game, to the point of willing self sacrifice. Chrollo wasn’t sure how to use that to his advantage. Previously, Hisoka had been … complicated, sure, but easy to understand, and easy to use. He wanted nothing but battle, was driven by this insane sort of lust, want, need. It was easy to toy with people that were obsessed. Hisoka wanted to die in battle, in a blaze of glory, probably orgasming as he did, the sick fuck.

Hisoka, from his previous understanding, was not the type to die for someone else. It simply wasn’t in his nature. So who were these twins?

“Shalnark,” Chrollo called from his seat on his chair, which he had stretched across like a cat, his eyes not wavering from the slumped figure before him. Shalnark peeked in from the other room, where he had been left on standby, in the event of Hisoka waking up and proving troublesome.

“Yes, Danchou?”

“Research mission. Find me a nen user who has some form of ability similar to Pakunoda.”

Chrollo barely heard Shalnark’s reply and scarcely noticed how hurriedly Shalnark had exited. He was starting to get into a mood, and it seemed as though the entire troupe had noticed, because their nen presence was far, far away from the ballroom.

Simple. This was all meant to be simple, and yet here Hisoka was, betraying that simple understanding Chrollo had of him, and now Chrollo was going to have to understand him all over again. Find his ticks all over again. Figure out how to use him all over again. Decide if he’s worth killing all. Over. Again.

Hisoka, once again, was functioning as a wrench thrown into Chrollo’s cogs, and Chrollo was quite frankly, almost furious.

Almost.

People were predictable until they weren’t, and now Hisoka was no longer predictable, all from a fight that lasted scarcely longer than ten minutes. Actually, not even five. Had Hisoka been fighting to, well, get off, it would have drug out for who knows how long, but instead he had …

Done something unpredictable, the second Chrollo summoned up hounds to go after the twins. He’d let himself get skewered by threads and incapacitated so he could turn for five seconds to blow the pursuing hounds sky high with no less than two decks of cards. He hadn’t even known if Chrollo could simply bring the nen hounds back. He’d simply acted on instinct. Chrollo wasn’t sure what to make of that. He still wasn’t sure, twelve hours, a concussion, and heavy sedatives later.

“Chrollo, dinner for the troupe is going to be ready soon,” Machi said from behind him, and Chrollo looked down at the book he’d been pretending to read for the last hour. Ah, Machi, the only one that had stayed by while Chrollo worked himself up into a mood, passively typing away on her phone.

“Let me know when he wakes up. I’m going to shower,” Chrollo replied shortly and stood swiftly, stalking towards the stairs. He could almost feel Machi’s disapproval wafting off of her. Machi. Damn the woman, she always knew when he was getting obsessed. Hisoka was probably not a healthy obsession, but she knew, of all people, that it could be worse.

A cold shower did nothing to quell the questions swirling in the thief’s mind. He had never really been fond of puzzles, personally, mainly because the majority of them were too easy to solve, so when he was confronted with a truly difficult one, it only served to irritate him. Perhaps that was hubris. He liked to think he had none, but his year in solitude had taught him that yes, he did have hubris. He refused any perspective that demanded that his loss. When faced with an opponent he couldn’t beat, like the Chain User, rather than get up when he got knocked down, he simply changed the rules, decided himself expendable, his existence pointless in the grand scheme of the troupe. Even his own troupe, the only people he truly cared for, couldn’t accept that, and rewrote his ending.

He couldn’t win on his own.

Hisoka’s obsession was his salvation.

And now his faith, because, yes, it was faith, in that obsession, in that understanding of who Hisoka was, was in question.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He shouldn’t have to care. Outside of restoring his nen, Hisoka had always been of little consequence to Chrollo. Hisoka, he thought, had seen Chrollo as a toy, but to Chrollo he had been little more than an annoying gnat, and now suddenly that understanding of Hisoka was being challenged. Chrollo wasn’t sure he liked that, or hated it. Either way, he didn’t want to embrace it, and yet he wanted to unravel the secret.

Or, primarily, he wanted to get his hands on the sarcophagus. He had lied to Edwin, told him the twins, he was sure they were twins, hadn’t accomplished the download, but had escaped. He had also told them he had a lead on them, a third party who knew them, and would extract the information himself. Edwin had raged over being left in the dark, but eventually agreed to allow Chrollo to handle it. So long as he got his results. The man only ever cared about results.

Chrollo was content with that.

He was  _ not  _ content with the basket case in the ballroom, waiting to wake up, and not even the frigid water could chase away the cloud that was descending on his mind. Shalnark would find someone soon, he was sure of it. Realistically, Chrollo could just sit back, relax, and not worry about it. Hisoka wasn’t going anywhere. He himself had very meticulously inspected him for tracking devices. The twins wouldn’t be able to track him down before Shalnark got him a telepath or some equivalent. No one was that good, anyways, and even if they  _ did  _ manage it, they would be going up against the full force of the phantom troupe. He could take them alive easily, and wrest the answers out of them himself, even if he had to break their hands to do it.

_ “Aim for their pelvises and that’ll be the last thing you do.” _

They were just fruit, right? Fruit was what he called the ones with potential. The declaration had seemed … off. Off and wrong in every way. Hisoka didn’t care if his “fruit” had grievous bodily harm, so long as they could get up, eventually. Incapacitating some broken pelvises should allow them to get back up, right? Unless, for whatever reason, that was a kill shot. It was unlikely. He just didn’t know what to make of this entire situation.

Hisoka actually caring about someone was simply inconceivable, in any universe. That much Chrollo knew. It wasn’t even an option to consider.

He was just wasting water now. A long, tired groan escaped his lips and he shut it off. Dinner would be ready soon. If he was correct, Phinks was cooking, so it wasn’t going to be utterly awful. Hopefully he wasn’t just making burgers for the 247th time.

A hoodie and pair of sweats had been carelessly tossed on the bed for his clothing for the day. Hisoka was going to be waking up soon. He would have to have a 24 hour watch on the man. Even in forced zetsu, he was still a threat. Hopefully they hadn’t concussed and drugged him into amnesia. That would be unfortunate for his plans.

Barefoot, Chrollo slipped out of the en suite and made his way to the ballroom first, to check on Hisoka. As predicted, the man was finally awake and looking worse for wear, blinking hazily against the glare of the lights. His makeup was completely fucked, and Chrollo realized for just the briefest of moments that he had never seen Hisoka  _ without  _ a face. At some point they’d have to toss him into a shower. He was filthy and dried blood would start reeking eventually.

“You’re awake.”

“And not dead. I presume you kept me alive to either torture me, or use me as bait, or both, yes?”

So the concussion hadn’t rattled  _ too  _ many brain cells. Some degree of cunning was leaking back into his yellow eyes, which left Chrollo almost relieved. Hisoka without any brain power seemed like a recipe for disaster. He’d seen him drunk approximately once, and never wanted to see anything similar again. Drunks that cried were the worst.

“You are not in a position to be asking questions, Hisoka.”

“Am I?” Hisoka stretched, wincing as he realized his shoulder had been dislocated and reset. “Any position is a position to be asking questions, mm?” And then he smirked, that damnable smirk that haunted Chrollo on late nights where he would rather think about anyone that was actually  _ important  _ and worthy enough to preoccupy his mind.

“Edwin has promised me the Sarcophagus of Mimsai if I deliver answers and a set of bodies to him. So regardless of your questions, you  _ will  _ be giving me answers. One way or another. Or they will, when they inevitably get here.”

“Don’t think you can catch them so easily.” Hisoka leered up at him, but now that Chrollo had seen him in a different light, he was beginning to notice little things. The way his leers didn’t reach his eyes. That tiny strain in his singsong, mocking tone that seemed just slightly off, slightly forced. How his eyes never stopped calculating, noticing, observing. Hisoka was a stage magician. Chrollo knew this, and had always just immediately accepted how outrageous and outlandish and almost rehearsed his behavior was in stride. Everyone did. Hisoka was carefully designed to get the optimal amount of discomfort out of anyone he crossed. It was a beautifully done act, and one that made perfect sense. Almost too much sense.

“Are they what you call ‘fruit’?”

“My, my, Chrollo, how forward you are.”

A non answer. Hisoka consistently gave non answers. He was an expert at controlling the conversation. It was just like his bungee gum. Even if you saw through it, knew how it worked, you couldn’t conquer it without hitting a sore spot, catching him off guard. Like how he and Machi had managed to capture him.

Chrollo had already threatened the twins, and therefore he knew that wouldn’t work. Hisoka had only clammed shut. He’d like to at least get  _ some  _ information out of him before the telepath arrived. That, however, was unlikely. And the knowledge that it was unlikely rankled Chrollo.

“You’re very good at not giving answers, Hisoka. I’ll just have to make sure you don’t have a choice.”

Hisoka grinned up at him, filthy and radiating … Chrollo wasn’t sure. Was he bucking up to the challenge? It was likely.

“I would love to see you try, Chrollo.”

“You should stop picking fights you won’t win.”

Something flickered across Hisoka’s eyes. It was very brief, very fleeting, but for a moment he almost looked … sad?

“And you should stop asking questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

“The answer, for me, is a very nice ancient and cursed sarcophagus I won’t have to spend a month or two trying to steal. Anything else is immaterial.”

_ What did Hisoka mean? _

“It won’t be worth the cost to get it.”

“I think I am capable of deciding that for myself, but your concern is noted.”

Hisoka had dropped the singsong tease in his tone for a moment. Chrollo noticed. Just what was his secret?

The familiar tilt to his jaw came back just as the door to the ballroom opened and Shizuku stuck her head in.

“Danchou! Food’s ready!”

The woman stopped and blinked at the jester tied to a pillar.

“Who’s that?”

“Hello, Shizuku,” Hisoka called warmly. “It’s lovely to see you again. I see your memory is still wonderful.”

Shizuku merely blinked once more and Chrollo sighed quietly to himself.

“I’ll be there in a moment, Shizuku. Go eat.”

“Okay!”

And, with that, the door slammed shut, leaving Chrollo alone with his prey. It was starting to feel like  _ he  _ was the prey at this point. Something in him wanted to teach Hisoka a lesson, but how could a teacher discipline an unruly student without understanding the reason for the misbehavior? No, it was best to leave alone for now.

“It would be redundant to tell you to stay. I’ll leave you here to entertain yourself,” Chrollo said shortly and turned on his heel. Shalnark better dig up a lead soon, before Chrollo’s endless patience started to fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! I didn't leave any notes in chapter one, but this is my first time getting back in the fanfic writing saddle in a few years, so thank you for bearing with me while I try to figure out where my stride is. Next chapter we might be getting to see some answers about Hisoka's secret. For now, perspective is staying with Chrollo, but after the big reveal it's going to be switching between characters, so stay tuned!


	3. The Giver and the Receiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo gets the answers he's been looking for, and Hisoka loses a lot more than his pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING there are graphic descriptions of mutilated bodies in this chapter, as well as allusions to underage sexual assault. See the bottom of the chapter for a summary.

_ “Just once is all it takes to save a soul.” _

It had taken Shalnark three days to find an obscure tribe known for their strange ritual of “sharing memories”. It had taken Phinks and Kalluto two days to reach the tribe, hidden high up in frigid mountains, where normal humans would die of oxygen deprivation before they could reach the summit, and two days to bring the stolen “receiver”, as they were called, back down and to the hideout.

So, one week. One week and a few hours since the troupe had brought Hisoka to the hideout, one frustrating, torturous week. Half of the troupe wanted to kill him. The other half just wanted him gone, and Chrollo could scarcely blame them. One week with a beast like Hisoka would drive anyone to extremes. At this point, he was having to play babysitter not just to their unwilling guest, but every murderous creature in the house.

The sooner they got information on the hideout, or just anything about the twins beyond their names, the better. Chrollo himself wanted to stab Hisoka through the chest. Somehow, the man’s habit of controlling the conversation only got _ more _ irritating when he was tied up to a pillar and grinning through blood after Feitan had lost his temper and split his lip. What was even _ more _frustrating was that, after a bath and a face wiped clean of grime, clad in Chrollo’s spare joggers that bunched up around his calves, Hisoka was even more attractive. Wild, untamed, wavy hair and a sharp face left Chrollo’s mind spinning. He had never stopped to consider that Hisoka’s makeup, already designed to throw off facial recognition, was also designed to not highlight, but shield a very pretty face. Like he was deliberately trying to make himself into someone that was ugly attempting to be attractive.

Irritating. Hisoka was irritating. Chrollo wanted him out of his house.

Chrollo was interrupted from his aggravated musings by the doors slamming open to reveal Phinks and Kalluto dragging in a wriggling … person? Clad in thick furs and wrapped boots, they were dressed for the mountains they came from. Their hair was long and fixed in an elaborate, falling apart hairstyle, black as night, and their eyes were wild and panicked. Chrollo couldn’t tell if they were male or female. Not that it really mattered, of course.

“Aw, Chrollo, you didn’t tell me you were bringing me a gift.” Hisoka spoke up, his voice raw and grating from the water denial of several days after he had slipped out of the cuffs, tried to escape, and was henceforth captured and slammed back into them. The wall he took out was going to take weeks to fix. Chrollo had been irritated. Chrollo’s legendary irritation could last days, if not weeks, and therefore Hisoka did not need water until he was just about ready to die.

Perhaps he had been too harsh.

“Let go!” The person roared, a fist solidly connecting with Kalluto’s chin.

“I think that’s enough.” Chrollo’s voice cut through the chaos and everyone in the room froze, with the exception of Hisoka, who couldn’t move anyways. “You are the receiver?”

They couldn’t have been more than seventeen. A veritable child, but, then again, so was Kalluto.

The person glared up at him, blowing a strand of straight black hair from their eyes, and Phinks tightened his grip on their arm.

“Yes.”

“You will retrieve information from this man.” Chrollo gestured to Hisoka, still bound to the pillar. “In exchange, I let your village and its inhabitants live. Fair trade?”

Straight to the point. There was no point in mincing words. From the sharp cuts on their cheeks and bruises all across their body, even if they didn’t have knowledge of the phantom troupe, they knew Chrollo would follow through.

“He is not a giver,” the person replied, jutting a chin at Hisoka. They were all sharp edges wrapped in soft furs. Chrollo could appreciate that. He liked it when people he would inevitably kill had a little fight in them. “He is untrained. It would kill him before you got any information.”

“And what is a giver?”

“Retired receivers who pass on the memories of our ancestors. Training takes years to be a giver. Taking any memories by force, which is _ exactly _what this looks like, could kill someone without spirit, or, as you call it, Nen.” The person was looking at Chrollo like he was an idiot, but Chrollo was fine with that. Lack of knowledge only meant there was more to learn.

“He does have Nen. It’s just locked. Besides, he’s willing to die.”

“I’m not killing a man. You can burn down my village, but not a single receiver there would do what you ask. The ancestors would frown on us.”

Ah, superstition. That strange little thing people were willing to die for. Chrollo never quite understood it. Then again, he didn’t really want to. The only people who did understand it, who weren’t superstitious themselves, were people forcibly raised in it. Chrollo was content to let them keep that knowledge to themselves. He didn’t need it.

Even so. It would be a pain to go get someone else, not when they had a deadline that no one had seen fit to tell them about. The twins could show up at any time. He’d rather not let this place get wrecked. He’d spent an inordinate amount of money on it, after all.

“Does he need to be conscious?”

The person blinked, almost in surprise. Apparently, they had not expected him to be reasonable. Which was to be expected, of course. They _ had _kidnapped them.

“Well, probably not, but…”

“Can you at least have the decency to discuss me like a sack of meat _ outside _of my hearing range?”

Ah, there he was. Chrollo had been waiting for him to pop into the conversation.

“Danchou…”

“Phinks, Kalluto, you may leave. Bring me Machi, if you will. Tell her to bring the tranquilizers.”

It was a simple fix. If he didn’t cooperate with the receiver, or whatever they were, they may just fudge the whole thing, or withhold information. And even if they were lying about not being able to get the information in time, there was no point in testing that. All he needed was an unconscious Hisoka, or at least a Hisoka drugged up enough to be a non threat. He could just kill the receiver later, or perhaps steal their ability. It seemed handy. He just needed to know how it worked. All of Shalnark’s research pointed to it being a group project, needing multiple people, but the specifics were hazy. They did not seem to appreciate anthropologists or hunters coming to study them.

Chrollo glanced at Hisoka from the corner of his eye. The jester was ramrod still, like a predator waiting to strike. He wouldn’t get that chance.

“You.” He focused his attention back onto the receiver. “What is your name?”

The person was quiet, studying Hisoka with a contemplative expression. They seemed to adjust well under pressure. That was good. Probably saved their life, for now. After all, if Chrollo was going to have someone do an important task, he didn’t want them jittery.

“Ky’ia.”

“What do you need for the ritual? It is a ritual, yes?”

“It depends. How much information do you need from him?”

“I need information on a set of twins and their location and goal.”

“Do you know how long he’s known them, and how much time he’s spent with them?”

“No. Hisoka, do you have any information you’d like to share with the class?”

Hisoka’s face distorted into an unsettling grin, and he tilted his head back to rest on the pillar, his throat bared. Chrollo, briefly, had an urge to rip it out with his teeth.

“No.”

Chrollo raised an eyebrow at Ky’ia, who only pursed their lips and looked troubled.

“If that’s the case, then I can pluck select memories of them that are at the forefront of his mind. Ones that generate the most emotional response. If I do a deep dive, it could take hours, or days, sometimes weeks. A surface skim would be preferable to what you need. It would be what we consider to be a training exercise. It’s very intimate. The receivers will be able to hear his thoughts from that moment, feel everything he felt in that moment. It can be disorientating. I would need three people to properly execute the flow, positioned in a sacred triangle, letting the memories pass through the flow of nen and back into him. If the flow is broken, then all the memories are gone, and neither he nor us will have any recollection. They cannot be regained once they’re lost.” Ky’ia looked youthful and serious. This was something their people took very seriously, Chrollo could tell. He was asking them to perform a religious ceremony on a bunch of thieves and murderers. Hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in his face.

Hopefully.

“Chrollo,” Hisoka said lowly and Chrollo glanced back. His body language was minute, but he looked for all the world like a man marching to the gallows. “If you do this, you can’t go back.” Golden eyes raised to lock directly with Chrollo’s. “You cannot. Go. Back.”

“Knowledge doesn’t kill people, Hisoka darling. I kill people,” Chrollo replied mildly. It took him about two nanoseconds to realize he had called Hisoka darling, and another three to realize he needed to get this degrading influence _ out of his house immediately. _The sooner the better.

Hisoka fell silent and slumped ever so slightly against his bonds. Ky’ia looked at him with something akin to pity.

“It will be painful.”

Hisoka looked up at the young nen user, as if he was memorizing their face.

“Yes. It will be.”

That was the moment Machi chose to enter, her medical bag in hand, and survey the scene.

“Ah. There you are. Please drug Hisoka. I don’t care if you get him high or unconscious. And text …”

Which troupe member would be most open to having their minds potentially invaded? Nobunaga was possibly too paranoid. They would follow him without question, of course, but he didn’t want those biases affecting the process. Phinks was … That was most certainly a no. Shizuku, perhaps, but he was decently sure she was off on a mission with Kortopi. Feitan would balk at the idea of seeing directly into Hisoka’s mind. Kalluto, well. While they were a capable troupe member, they were still a child. Hisoka had likely done some nasty things, and Chrollo had _ some _principles, though he had a sneaking suspicion Kalluto knew a lot more about adult things than they let on. They were quite secretive.

Shalnark it was, then.

“Text Shalnark. Tell him I need him.”

He’d do it himself, but his phone was left somewhere. He didn’t really care as to where. He’d find it eventually.

Machi sent the text in a matter of moments before she knelt before Hisoka, tapping lightly on the syringe in her hand.

“This is a very, very strong painkiller. Even with your stamina, you will be high for at least twelve hours,” she warned him before injecting it directly into his neck. Hisoka tensed, eyes bulging at the flood of chemicals into his stream, and Machi sat back on her haunches to inspect the busted lip.

“Ky’ia is going to perform a memory sharing ritual that requires three conduits with nen,” Chrollo said and Machi looked back at him, her brows furrowing.

“Do you …”

“Yes, I need you. And Hisoka will have to have access to his nen so he doesn’t die in the middle of it.”

Machi frowned at that and stood up.

“I’m not sure I …”

“I can trust you with this. You’re more adaptable than what I have on hand, less likely to break concentration, and it sounds like this requires intense control over Nen, more suited to a Manipulator or Transmuter. So. You will be helping.”

Machi fell silent, her lips pursed almost angrily at Chrollo’s declaration. He didn’t blame her. Hisoka had always been particularly interested in her, so who knew what kind of fucked up nonsense they’d find about her in his brain. If they remained focused on the twins, however, they shouldn’t find anything too obscene in regards to _ her. _

Shalnark peeked in through the door and Chrollo gestured for him to closer.

“The ritual Ky’ia is to perform only works with three other people,” Chrollo explained briefly. “I need you to act as a conduit.”

Shalnark lit up slightly at that. He did like to see new Nen. At least _ someone _here was willing.

A low groan escaped Hisoka’s lips and Machi dropped to one knee to inspect his eyes for dilation.

“He’s ready.”

Chrollo paced behind the drugged up jester and knelt to unlock the handcuffs. Hisoka completely pitched forward, and was barely caught by Machi before he managed to knock himself out on the hardwood floors. The woman positioned him so he was laying down and stood up, surveying him with something akin to disdain as his eyes rolled back into his sockets and his mouth parted only just. He was already starting to sweat.

“It was Nen infused, designed to react with the user’s Nen,” Machi said with a shrug. “I didn’t know he would be out of Zetsu, so it’s probably hitting harder than expected.”

Chrollo sighed as dull gold eyes found his, searching for answers to why he was _ feeling _like this. He was probably sky high right about now, and not happy about it.

“You said a triangle, yes?”

“Yes.” Ky’ia was looking down at Hisoka with something akin to concern as the man fidgeted uncomfortably. “I stand at the foot, I need two on either side of me, and one at the head.”

The three spiders shuffled around into position and looked at Ky’ia expectantly. The threat of the loss of their village looming over their head, the young practitioner swallowed and lifted their arms.

“This is likely not something you all have done before, but you need to activate, I believe you call it Ten, and use it to reach out to touch each other. A sort of handshake with Nen. Like how you sense the presence of another, but visualize it as acknowledging one another.”

Chrollo’s mind went back to the twins’ strange Nen. Was that how they did it? Were they from a similar tribe? Ky’ia was very brown, and they were very pale, so it was unlikely they were from their tribe. Maybe there was another tribe that shared Nen.

It was no matter. The three activated their Ten, and Ky’ia physically balked at the overwhelming presence of it, the malicious bloodlust that accompanied it. Blood drained from their face for just a moment, but in an instant they reclaimed themselves and activated their own. It washed over Chrollo like a cool river, calm, untainted, cooling, and his eyebrows shot up. It was significantly smaller compared to the spiders, but it was rather … different. He forgot other people actually reflected their own personalities, not their goals, with their Ten.

Ky’ia reached out to Machi and Shalnark on either side of them, gentle and coaxing, showing them how to bind their Nen to theirs. It was … different, but Chrollo sucked in the knowledge as he watched the Ten bleed into each other like a gradient. Following suit, he reached out to Machi and Shalnark, and then it was his turn to balk as he took hold. He hadn’t realized you could _ empathize, _ literally, with Nen. Machi was cold and irritated with the whole debacle, while Shalnark was overflowing with excitement because he had never got to actually look into someone’s _ head _ before. Pakunoda could _ show _them, but now he was a part of the process, and oh, boy he was excited.

His attention shifted back to Ky’ia, who was studying the dazed and confused Hisoka carefully.

“I’m going to reach into Hisoka, I think his name was, now. Please give me the names of the twins.”

“Nox and Nyx.”

“We’re going to have to go through the first barrier, so please brace yourselves.”

And then Ky’ia reached out, and it was like someone had slammed Chrollo through a brick wall.

Rage, hate, fear, protectiveness, and an emotion Chrollo only felt for his troupe on rare occasions, was that … Love? There was a pause, only for a moment, a feeling similar to hearing something crack, and then more swept in. Bitterness. Regret. Resolve, resolve, resolve, a bone deep tiredness that only came from a broken soul, and there Hisoka was, on the ground, drooling, somehow the result of all of this cacophony.

What was going on here?

Where was the bloodlust? His understanding of what Hisoka was? The desire to win or die trying? Was that the resolve?

_ “Stay focused. I am now speaking through the link. We are through the first two barriers. In a moment, we will go to the first chronological memory he ranks as important.” _

Ky’ia’s voice cut through the gloom and Chrollo briefly realized they were still in the ballroom. It felt like they weren’t. It felt like he was in another land, another world, even. It was not unsimilar to reading a book, he supposed.

It was at that moment that he realized they it was most certainly _ not _like a book, because the ballroom faded around them, and suddenly he was slightly taller, walking through a haze of smoke and dust. Fire crackled in the distance and his eyes were watering from the strain. Instinctively, Chrollo reached up to wipe at his eyes, only to come back with smeared face paint.

Oh. Oh, he was Hisoka.

_ Did someone get here before me? _

A thought, a feeling, a sense of caution and worry was clutching at Chrollo-Hisoka’s heart. As the memory became more clear, a broken and destroyed building formed around them. It looked like a manor. Or, had been a manor, tucked away in the woods. Broken, burnt, and eviscerated bodies were scattered around them, some burnt by the fire, some torn limb from limb. A head was sitting, smashed and leaking on the ground, and a sense of pain twisted in his gut.

“How very inelegant,” Hisoka murmured. “Someone was angrier than even me.”

There was a cough, to the right, and Hisoka swung, only now just noticing the trembling, new, hurting Nen presence. Left prone on the ground were two very, very small bodies, just shy of being teenagers. Something akin to a worry wariness rose in his throat, and Hisoka started to approach them with no small degree of trepidation.

“Your temper fit drained your Nen,” he said casually as he stood over them. Twin ice blue, almost silver eyes met his gaze, and Chrollo realized, through Hisoka’s eyes, that they were children. Covered in blood and soot and ash from head to toe, scantily clothed, but still children.

_ I should leave them. _

_ I can’t start saving kids now. It’s not time. _

Still, he knelt in front of them and extended a hand to them.

“Looks like you saved yourselves. Can you walk?”

In unison, they shook their heads no, tears brimming. If Chrollo had to guess, he’d place them at about twelve, maybe thirteen.

Children.

What had made them so mad?

He felt his lips, Hisoka’s lips, pull into a frown.

“What are your names?”

At that, the set of twins started crying, genuinely crying, and opened their mouths to reveal severed, cauterized stumps in place of tongues. Hisoka pursed his lips.

“We can figure that out later. May I carry you?”

_ What am I doing? _

_ I’m not going to be able to stop now. _

_ I should leave. _

_ There’s no survivors. No one will ever know. _

_ Just this once. _

_ I can’t keep going if I don’t have just this once … _

_ Just this once. _

The twins nodded in unison and Hisoka stood, spinning a wad of bungee gum to prepare to fix them to his back and chest. A scream of pain ripped out of their throats in unison as he lifted one, and he immediately set them back down.

“Where does it hurt?”

Eyes brimming with tears, they pointed to their pelvises and Hisoka frowned.

“I can stabilize them for now, but it will still hurt. You two need to be quiet until I can get you to a doctor. Okay?”

The twins nodded. Their tears had left tracks through the drying blood. Chrollo, not Hisoka, felt sick, because there was knowledge blooming in his chest that he didn’t want to have.

So this is what Hisoka meant.

“Do you know if you’re torn?”

Ky’ia realized a moment after Chrollo, and their shock jerked the four from the dream. The concentration wavered for a moment, and anxiety spiked in Chrollo for just a moment before Ky’ia refocused before it could all come crashing down. It was like riding a rollercoaster. For the briefest of seconds, the ballroom and Hisoka screaming in pain materialized, and then it was gone as they were catapulted into the next dream. Tendrils of Machi’s shock and Shalnark’s confusion touched Chrollo, and they were gone in a moment as the new dream, it felt like a dream, formed around them.

It looked like they were in an apartment. A man in a white lab coat, Doctor Brentson, Hisoka’s mind helpfully supplied, was standing there, explaining something to two silent figures in wheelchairs.

“With your genetic disposition to … How does your tribe call it? Sharing pain, yes? It’s unlikely that your pelvises will ever heal. Perhaps some Nen healing ability that can be performed in unison, but … Unless you two figure something out, you’re going to be stuck in these wheelchairs.”

Chrollo could feel the counter press into his back. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he felt pensive, worried, unsettled. Quiet thoughts only Hisoka could catch were swirling around the back of his mind, and his eyes were fixed on the twins’ faces. They were refusing to look the doctor in the eye. They could only nod, it seemed.

Brentson sent a helpless look back at Hisoka, and Hisoka sighed softly.

“That’s enough, Brentson. Just send their prescriptions to the pharmacy. I’ll pick them up later. Thank you for coming by.”

Chrollo belatedly realized Hisoka’s tone was different. It lacked that singsong quality, that impish glee. He sounded … serious? Chrollo supposed? Like he was off the stage.

Doctor Brentson drifted closer to Hisoka and looked up at him seriously. A hand circled around Hisoka’s arm, and confusion surfaced as Chrollo realized Hisoka was fine with it.

“Don’t give them the same choice he gave you,” Doctor Brentson murmured. “They’ll die.”

Hisoka’s gaze fell on the two and Chrollo felt the slightest prick of pride.

“They’re tougher than you think. They’ll survive.”

Doctor Brentson frowned at that and looked back at the two.

“How would you know?”

“I know a fighter when I see one, Brentson. You of all people would know that. Besides, you've known them for a few months now. You should know better."

Brentson let out a sigh and made for the door.

“Be careful.”

Hisoka snorted.

“Don’t insult me, Klaus.”

The door slammed and the three were left alone together. Hisoka was feeling contemplative. Assured of whatever he was about to do was right.

“Right then,” he said suddenly and dragged a chair over, spinning it around so he could straddle it and face the twins. “A long time ago, someone found me, and they gave me a choice.”

The twins looked at that and their Nen started to leak off of them in waves of murderous bloodlust and pain. Hisoka was amused at the reaction, and treated them to a rare not crazed smile.

“The choice he gave me was this: he would help me start a new home, far away from all of this hell. Get a new life. Let me place my trust in him to avenge me and everyone else. And I did trust him to get it done, of course. But the other choice was for me to take matters into my own hands. Let him direct me, show me the way. He let me choose to bring it all down, one brick at a time, put sugar in the concrete, what have you, and I decided that, yes, that’s what I wanted to do. And so I let him teach me. Train me. I put on a mask, and I never took it off to breathe. It’s been literal hell. I have nothing but regrets. It will drain you. Completely. You have to destroy your sense of self, abandon any hope of being normal and wanted and loved until you’re done. And it will take years.”

There was resolve written across their body now. Hisoka had grabbed their attention and commanded it, and in the back of his mind, Chrollo was starting to piece together the puzzle that was Hisoka the Magician.

“So I’m offering you this. Do you want me to give you peace, or do you want me to give you war?”

The twins’ hands started moving and Chrollo realized, dimly, that he could almost understand, as they signed “war”.

Pride and satisfaction rushed him and a smile split Hisoka’s face.

“Right. Then your first task is this: learn to fight in your wheelchairs, or learn to get out of them. You have three months.”

The memory warped, and, distantly, Chrollo could hear Hisoka screaming in pain. His voice was flushed away by a wave, and then they dropped into a new dream. Hisoka was in a car, the only apparent occupant, trundling down a bumpy road deep in the forest. The sun was going down above the leaves, sending light sparkling and dancing, and with the windows down, it smelled like it had just rained. He felt tired, haggard, but as he turned down a final bend to find a bungalow, joy simply leapt in his throat at the sight of two figures, one with white hair, one with black, standing on the porch, waiting for him. Chrollo felt tears prick, but the memory was gone as fast as it came. He wanted to catch it and hold on, for some reason. Perhaps that was Hisoka.

It faded and instead the smell of sweat and pain assaulted his nose. Before him were the twins, covered in blood, just like the first time, shaking in their place. In front of them was a corpse, a large, muscular man, who Chrollo felt like he knew, his head decapitated. His face was permanently captured in a gruesome scream. Chrollo had almost forgotten how fear didn’t fade from the eyes in death.

_ Plop. _

The sound of blood hitting the ground seemed to shake Hisoka from his frozen state. A million emotions welled up; anger, disappointment, pain, regret, self hatred.

“Do you feel better?” He asked quietly.

In unison, did they ever _ not _do anything in unison, the twins shook their heads no. Their backs were to Hisoka. They didn’t want him to see their faces.

“Did you mean to?”

And then one nodded yes, Nyx, his brain supplied, the one with white hair, while Nox, the one with black hair, shook their head no.

Hisoka felt … Sad. That was not an emotion Chrollo had associated with Hisoka previously. Rage, anger, hatred he could understand. Not this melancholy sense of failure. He had failed _ them _, Chrollo realized.

“Look at me.”

Nox and Nyx were frozen in place, and Hisoka seemed to realize that, as he circled back around to see them. In their hands were twin necklaces with moon pendants, and realization hit Hisoka as he realized why they had broken.

“She’s not here, is she?”

The two didn’t have to look up for Hisoka to see that they were crying.

Nox’s hands moved slowly, signing out one definite sentence.

_ “She was dead for a long time.” _

_ They knew, _ Hisoka thought. _ They just couldn’t believe until … _

His gaze fell back to the corpse on the ground and Hisoka’s brain supplied the answer Chrollo was looking for.

Trask Gorgon. The man who kept the trinkets of the children who aged out.

Chrollo felt like he was going to be sick again.

“This is my fault,” Hisoka said softly. “I taught you to use your strength. I neglected to teach you to control it.”

Nyx and Nox were shaking and Hisoka held out his arms. Two warm bodies pressed against him as guttural sobs started to fill the room. Blood soaked through Hisoka’s layers almost instantly, but he didn’t seem to care.

The scene started to shift again, and in the back of Chrollo’s mind he could hear Hisoka’s grating voice.

_ “If you do this, you cannot go back.” _

_ “This will be painful.” _

_ “Yes. It will be.” _

It wasn’t often that anyone, really, wished they had listened to Hisoka Morrow.

The sun was shining, beating down on Hisoka as he lounged on the steps of the porch of the bungalow. There were still no clues as to where he was. Of course he picked a hideout in the middle of nowhere. It was smart, actually. And irritating. Though, at this point, Chrollo was finding himself questioning if the sarcophagus was _ really _that important.

The twins were sparring in front of him, and Chrollo briefly realized Hisoka was actually in … jean shorts and a crop top. That wasn’t weird at all.

They were good, fast, in some sort of modified Zetsu designed to keep them from destroying everything but still allow them on their feet. Zipping across the sand sparring ring, their movements were nearly impossible to follow, but Hisoka had good eyes. Nox was dropping their guard, and just like that, a solid fist connected with their jaw, sending them flying, and both yelping in pain as Nyx hopped back to rub at their own jaw.

“Ah. You get it now,” Hisoka drawled as he reached to take a sip of his lemonade. Nox and Nyx both turned to glare at him, and Chrollo had a feeling that if they had tongues, they would be sticking them out. They looked about fifteen now. Still children, really.

“Control. If you hit the other too hard, you hurt yourself.”

Nox’s hands were a flurry of movement, their face distorting to accompany the … grammar? Yes, the face and body language were a part of the grammar.

“_ This is stupid. _”

“No, it is not. If you don’t know how to hold _ back _from killing someone, you will forever find yourself losing your tempers in the heat of the moment and killing the wrong people.”

Nyx laughed. It sounded strange, without a tongue, but it was fairly pure. Still childish.

“_ He’s right. _”

“_ Don’t side with him! _”

“_ Don’t be stupid then, stupid! _”

“_ You’re the genius that just hit yourself! _”

Hisoka simply laughed and tilted back his head to look up at the sky, watching the clouds float on by. It took Chrollo a moment to realize why this memory was so important.

He was happy, and they were growing. It was a strange emotion.

Chrollo was unfamiliar with it.

The memory started to shift, and then dissolve, leaving them roaming through bits and pieces of his brain dedicated to Nyx and Nox. Chrollo saw flashes of the twins, chopping fruit for smoothies, hunched over laptops, complaining about schoolwork that Hisoka was hellbent on making them finish, training, getting their first motorcycles and immediately crashing, swimming at some tranquil beach, coming home bloodied and bruised from a mission as Hisoka fussed over their injuries.

It all finally settled with Hisoka leaning on a door, watching them turn fitfully in their sleep, little moans and groans of pain threatening to wake them up.

“You don’t have to do this.” It was that Doctor Brentson again. Hisoka felt worried, pensive, upset.

“They will just keep building up tolerances to the medications. They need to sleep.”

“You don’t even know if it will work. Have you even asked them?”

“No.”

“They won’t want it.”

“If I can’t get the card, I can return Chrollo to the troupe. Maybe then I can get back in her good graces.”

“She can’t operate on them simultaneously. You know that.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Hisoka turned on Klaus, Brentson, whichever it was, in a fury. There were tears in his eyes.

The twins stirred slightly, starting to blink, and Hisoka seized Brentson by the collar to drag him away.

“Hisoka, stop. You’re going to get yourself killed, and then they won’t have _ anyone. _ Just like you.”

Hisoka froze in the kitchen and turned to look at Klaus. Bloodlust was beginning to seep, but it was dampened by the pained look in Klaus’s honest brown eyes.

“If I can’t give them a better life, then there’s no point to any of this.”

“They won’t even accept it from her and you _ know _ that. They won’t accept help from any of them, even if by some miracle you managed to convince them. And how are you going to convince them, anyways, short of blowing your cover? And what are you going to say when they inevitably catch on that they _ hate _them?”

A secondary memory flashed across the peripheries, of Nox angrily signing with tears on their face.

“_ They didn’t have to give him permission! They just had to give him the power! _”

Who was him? Chrollo tried to dig, but the knowledge danced away like a frightened rabbit.

“They’ll accept the help whether they like it or not!” Hisoka snarled, snapping Chrollo back into the memory.

Klaus was silent, looking at Hisoka with sad, sad eyes.

“Be careful that your protectiveness doesn’t make you a tyrant. I have to be at Hyban in three hours. I need to go.”

And with that, Klaus left, mercifully. A part of Hisoka thanked him for sparing him the indignity of witnessing his tears.

They both knew Klaus would always spare him that.

Hyban. Hyban Hospital, known for its specialty in rare genetic disorders.

Three hours. They had a location.

“Pull out.”

Chrollo, for some reason, didn’t want to see anymore. There was the slightest sense of acknowledgement from Ky’ia, and the four were yanked from the stream at the tailend of Hisoka’s scream.

Reemerging in the ballroom was a trip, to put it lightly. It took more than a second to disentangle himself from the joined Nen, and another second to force himself to look down at Hisoka. He was a wreck, drenched in sweat, shaking horribly, high out of his mind and listless on the floor.

Chrollo didn’t know what to do with any of this new information. For once in his life, he was at a loss. Ky’ia looked shaken, traumatized, in fact. They were just a kid.

“Machi.”

Machi looked even more shaken as the realization dawned on them all that it had never been about Chrollo. It had always been about her. Shalnark, even, looked a little ruffled, like he had too many tabs open and nowhere to start.

“Take our guest to the kitchen and get them some food,” Chrollo said quietly as he crouched next to a recovering Hisoka. He would be incoherent for quite some time. “I’m going to get Hisoka cleaned up. Unless anyone hears a fight, no one bother me.”

Machi nodded, shaken, unable to form words. It would seem no one was expecting this. Shalnark looked a little lost, in need of direction, and Chrollo relented.

“Shalnark, you have a good idea of the bungalow. See if you can get satellite images of the area surrounding Hyban Hospital. Or information on Klaus Brentson.”

The spiders left for their respective tasks as Chrollo surveyed a panting, borderline comatose Hisoka. He was hot. Too hot. Too much of a system shock? Did he have a fever now?

“Don’t expect this treatment often,” Chrollo grumbled and lifted the solid bulk of muscle, grimacing at the weight.

For once in his life, he had no idea what to do. If he helped Edwin, would he be endorsing what he thought he was endorsing? Or, worse, enabling it? But if he backed out, how would he explain this to the troupe? Worse, how would they react? What if some of them were fine with it? Could he even …

For once in his life, Chrollo felt cowardly.

_ “If you do this, there’s no going back.” _

Hisoka, unexpectedly, curled into his warmth, craving some kind of comfort, and Chrollo felt his heart sink as he looked down at the thoroughly broken man, trying desperately to keep it all together.

_ How long? _

_ How long had he been doing this? _

_ How long was he alone? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have skipped to the bottom, hello! In this chapter, Chrollo gets his hands on a "receiver" from a tribe in the mountains. Their specialty is sharing memories, and their religion demands they pass down the memories of their ancestors one generation at a time. (I absolutely based this Nen ability on The Giver, it was a favorite as a kid.) Under the threat of their village being burned to the ground, Ky'ia, a new original character, performs the ritual with the help of Shalnark, Machi, and Chrollo. By delving into Hisoka's most important memories of Nox and Nyx, they discover that for some unknown time, Hisoka has dedicated his life to taking down what seems to be a child sex trafficking ring. Nox and Nyx were the only two survivors he could save without his cover being blown, and he has become a surrogate guardian of the two, going so far as to learn sign language to communicate with them, as they do not have tongues, and returning Chrollo's Nen in the hopes that he can get on Machi's good side so she can fix their pelvises, which, for some strange reason, have remained broken for years due to some genetic or Nen ability called "sharing pain". But, for some reason, there is a mystery surrounding their feelings for the troupe, as they hate them for some unknown reason as of yet. The chapter is left off with Hisoka being high as hell, and running a fever, and Chrollo grappling with his contradictory feelings on this new revelation.
> 
> Now that the summary is out of the way, thank you to everyone for sticking through! These are the only chapters I have written so far, but hopefully I will be updating soon, preferably before the semester starts.


	4. The Fly and the Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo has some reflections while Hisoka is in the bath.

Hisoka was a mess, feverish, his lips dry and chapped, dehydrated, though that could be blamed on Chrollo. Mostly. After all, had Hisoka not tried to escape, he wouldn’t have been punished.

Guilt was not an emotion Chrollo possessed. To make amends, one had to feel guilty, and, really, how was he supposed to feel guilty when he didn’t even  _ know _ ? Acting, not acting, whichever it was, Hisoka was very, very good. One could feasibly say all of Hisoka’s problems could be definitively pinned on Hisoka. If anything, the lack of Chrollo’s knowledge, of all people, was a clear testament to Hisoka’s abilities, and Chrollo almost … respected him, in a way, for that.

Hisoka had carefully designed himself to not garner any respect whatsoever. His very personality overshadowed any respect he could have gained for his abilities. He was excellent, superb, even.

He didn’t look superb, half conscious and in a bath while Chrollo simply stared at him, unwilling to move to wash him. Really, it was a silly thing to fret over, intimacy. Chrollo had invaded the one part of his memories, his life, that Hisoka actually cherished enough to keep secret from the world. Part of Chrollo wanted to believe Hisoka saw the twins as nothing more than a weapon, but every single one of Hisoka’s emotions he had experienced firsthand pointed otherwise.

They were his baby siblings, if anything. He wasn’t really a parent to them. There wasn’t enough of an age gap. Based on the fleeting memories he caught glimpses of, Chrollo could estimate them to be around 18, and Hisoka himself was only 26, or perhaps 28. He must have found them when they were 12 or 13.

Not much older than those brats Hisoka was obsessed with. Gon and Killua, he was certain they were called. Or Kalluto.

The burning question on his mind at the moment was how much of an act any of this was. 

Hisoka was strong. He could be used, like he was always used, Chrollo insisted. They just had to find the right leverage.

Guilt was not an emotion Chrollo associated himself with, so perhaps this stone in his gut was just leftover tendrils of Hisoka’s own emotions. That was likely it.

Hisoka would be out of it for several hours.

“Rag,” Hisoka mumbled and Chrollo raised his eyebrows, surprised he could even speak. He sounded like he had cotton shoved down his throat.

“Pardon?”

“Rag,” Hisoka repeated. Now he just sounded like a cheese grater against a chalkboard. “Soap.”

Ah. He wanted to wash himself. Fastidious as always, Chrollo supposed.

“To your left.”

“Left?”

Whatever Machi gave Hisoka, Chrollo had to make sure it never went  _ near  _ a troupe member. With a sigh, he reached over Hisoka and grabbed the rag. Hisoka lunged forward and Chrollo almost moved to block, before he realized Hisoka was actually just leaning in to … sniff.

Hisoka was sniffing him.

Stranger things have happened.

Chrollo pushed him back and water splashed all over the tub, soaking his pants, and a deep sigh escaped his lips. This was so tiresome.

“Here.”

He shoved the rag into Hisoka’s hands and grabbed the soap to drizzle it down onto the cloth. Hisoka watched, mesmerized, and reached out to run his fingers through the pool of gel. Chrollo vaguely wondered if he had simply not seen correctly and Machi had actually fed him a pot brownie.

“Wash,” he commanded, figuring any sentence longer than a word was too much for Hisoka to process right now. He looked dazed, tired, almost … No, Chrollo was not going to go with that word.

“Wash,” Hisoka repeated, his voice trembling slightly. He looked like he could cry. “I can’t wash it away.”

“Wash what away?”

“The graves.”

Chrollo paused, frowning.

“Well, no, you can’t wash graves away with anything short of a flood.”

“I keep records.”

“Of what?”

“The bodies. I want to give them back, one day.”

Realization dawned and Chrollo felt his heart sinking again. When had Hisoka gained the power to make his heart hurt like this?

“How long?” Chrollo asked, softly, and dull yellow eyes shifted to look at him. “How long have you been hunting?”

“Ten.”

“Ten what?”

“Years.”

There it was again. The weight, pulling his chest down.

Chrollo had always respected resolve. He liked that in an opponent. He did not respect justice. Life had dealt him a shit hand, and so he had resolved to give a shittier hand to everyone else. Murder, mayhem, destroyed lives, they all blurred together. Justice was a foreign concept to him. Justice had never been given in his name, and so he had accepted that there was no reason for him to receive it. To him, justice was just codespeak for those in power deciding who was expendable and who was rich enough to get away with their crimes. That was how it had always been. And so he had decided to always be rich enough.

Harsh worlds made harsh people.

Death was inevitable.

Death was the punishment dealt. There was no such thing as change, repentance for your crimes, and anyone that offered it was weak and foolish.

The Chain User had threatened that simple understanding of the world. In his time in solitude, Chrollo had realized one world shattering thing:

The Chain User had chosen to bind the ones who had done him wrong, to give them a chance at a new life, a new peace, a new passion, a new family. He was the strongest person Chrollo had ever fought. His chains were unbreakable, limitless in their power.

And he had chosen to use that power, on Chrollo, the cause of his agony, to heal, if Chrollo chose to accept.

Once he returned to his spiders, those thoughts and revelations were banished from his mind. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to consider what may have happened if he had simply took what the Kurta offered.

But then … If the Kurta had designed his chains to give them a chance of redemption, why had he killed Uvogin? A change of heart?

His thoughts were interrupted by the realization that Hisoka was trying to obsessively scrub his hands clean.

“Stop that,” Chrollo commanded, snatching the rag away. Hisoka’s hands were raw now. How hard had he scrubbed?

“They’re dirty.”

“No dirtier than mine, but you don’t see me making a mess out of my hands, do you?”

Hisoka fell silent and stared down at the water. He was starting to get wrinkly. Chrollo sighed and relented.

“Bend your head forward,” he ordered, and just like that, Hisoka actually complied. It would have been a nice change of pace had the circumstances been different.

“You know, Hisoka, if I didn’t have to get you high just to get you to listen to instructions for once, you might actually be tolerable.”

Hisoka hummed, not really hearing Chrollo as Chrollo scrubbed his neck clean, where the sweat was the worst. He would have to at least dunk Hisoka’s head in the water. His hair was crispy and reeked.

_Just this once._ _I can’t keep going if I don’t have just this once …_

Ten years. Chrollo reckoned he was anywhere from sixteen to eighteen when he began.

Children grew up fast in this world. There were exceptional ones at young ages, of course. Zoldyck children, in particular, were rather terrifying. Children of hunters generally grew faster. Teenagers often lived alone, managed their own bills, paid their own way, followed their own dreams.

He still wasn’t certain that teenagers should be on the level of blacklist hunters, or entrusted with that much responsibility. Then again, he had a literal child in the troupe. Very often, with kids with traumatizing pasts, adults took them under their wing and guided them to do what they were going to do anyways, to keep them from getting killed.

He had a feeling Hisoka knew this about those twins of his. That they would do it anyways. He’d offered them hope, and in return, they’d offered him resolve.

He wondered if they knew just what they had given him.

Hisoka was still hot to the touch. He’d have to get him some medicine. And water, probably.

He didn’t know what to do, still.

Everything was being challenged, and he had to reevaluate.

Justice had no place in this world. There was only vengeance. Destruction. What Hisoka was doing wasn’t just vengeance.

The graves … The bodies.

He wanted to fix what was broken.

Chrollo wasn’t sure that was what counted as justice. He was, admittedly, a simple man. Very often, he killed the children of the parents he killed. They were mercy killings, in a way. Otherwise, the children would simply grow up to be consumed with vengeance and misery until they tried to take on what they could not beat, and then it would simply be another senseless, pointless death that should have happened a senseless, pointless, long time ago.

He didn’t have “fruits”. He didn’t lay the seeds of his own destruction. He put them down. Like you would put down an old dog.

Kurapika … Yes, that was his name. He had beaten him. He had not been inconsequential, or senseless. He had showed him that there could be grace in vengeance.

Hisoka was showing him that the ugliest and most vile of vengeance could still be justified.

Two things could be true at once, Chrollo supposed, as he thought back to the head on the floor.

Who was the girl they were referring to?

Someone who had shown the twins kindness?

And what was that sharing pain thing about?

The only question he wanted answered was answered. He should be content with that, and yet more were rising, unbidden, to the surface. Questions, questions, and a reluctant interviewee who would not answer them.

The reluctant interviewee in question was about to get himself drowned with how much he had slumped forward into the water.

“Up,” Chrollo commanded and Hisoka shot up, smacked his head on the tile of the shower wall, and yelped. Dear gods, this was the stuff of his worst nightmare. Hisoka, naked, wet, high out of his mind, and horrifically sympathetic.

Chrollo wasn’t even  _ capable  _ of sympathy.

What on earth was going on?

Chrollo banished those thoughts from his mind as he ran a rough rag under Hisoka’s arms, wincing at the stench.

“Here. Dunk your head,” Chrollo said as he set the rag aside and slid a hand behind Hisoka’s neck, not trusting him to not slip and drown himself.

Hisoka obeyed, once again, and Chrollo almost wished he would just hurry up and sober up and give him a cryptic reply sprinkled with substantial attitude. Red hair splayed out in the tub and Chrollo reached over to shake it out in the water, breaking up the clumps and mess it had become. It wasn’t a shampoo, but something told him Hisoka only used the highest brand products on his hair and the headache of Hisoka discovering a two in one dandruff shampoo had been put on his scalp was not worth the effort it would take to wash it. Machi had dry shampoo somewhere. He was fairly certain that’s what you used if your hair became greasy.

“Alright, up,” he ordered and hefted Hisoka to his knees, and then his feet. Hisoka staggered, nearly pitching forward, and Chrollo very obviously ignored his now very obvious crotch.

Carefully, he led Hisoka out of the tub and scrubbed him down with a towel as Hisoka gripped the counter for support. A vigorous hair dry later, and Chrollo was half carrying, half dragging Hisoka into the bedroom to throw on a fresh pair of sweats and wrestle him onto the bed and back into handcuffs. Hisoka giggled and rolled around on the bed, nearly falling off before Chrollo lashed out and grabbed him by the back of his pants. These mood swings were too much for him. He couldn’t keep up.

“Chroll-oooo,” Hisoka crooned. “Why am I in your bed?”

“Because I do not have the patience to drag you down the hall.”

“Why am I handcuffed in your beeed?”

There was some god, somewhere, cackling down at Chrollo right then, as he realized that, like Hisoka, he was, in fact, the cause of his own problems.

“Because you cannot behave even when high as fuck and running a fever, apparently.” The explicative slipped out of his mouth unbidden, and Chrollo almost cursed how much Hisoka made him lose his composure. Almost. It wasn’t like Hisoka would remember, anyways.

A bottle of acetaminophen was on the side table, and Chrollo shook out two tablets and affixed a straw in the glass of water waiting for the end of the bath.

“Sit up.” He had never given Hisoka so many orders in all of the two, maybe three years he had known him, and yet this was seemingly the only time he had ever managed to make Hisoka obey even the simplest of commands. Hisoka struggled to sit up and lean against the headboard as Chrollo wrested his mouth open to toss in the two tablets and shove the straw between his lips.

“It’s acetaminophen. It’s safe to take. It’s just to get the fever down,” Chrollo explained and Hisoka gulped the water down, eyes almost rolling back in his head as water finally, finally got into his system.

Chrollo took the water away once Hisoka had drained the glass and wondered, vaguely, if he should have put a shirt on him before he slapped on the handcuffs. Probably. There was no denying Hisoka’s build, and the last thing Chrollo needed was yet  _ another  _ Hisoka-centered distraction. Oh, well. What was done was done.

Hisoka was agreeable to answering questions right now. They probably should have gotten him high sooner, but he was likely only open to it because they already  _ knew _ now.

Chrollo should leave it be. He knew he should leave it be. Hisoka had told him not to ask questions he didn’t want the answers to.

“Hisoka.”

Stupid.

“Who did we give power to?”

Chrollo was being  _ stupid. _

Hisoka paused, tilted his head, trying to read Chrollo with what few functioning brain cells he had at the moment. And, then, he reached forward and placed a single finger on Chrollo’s lips.

“It’s not my secret.”

Chrollo had never in his  _ life  _ had his brain short circuit. He jerked away as if he’d been burned. Hisoka was high. He had even fewer inhibitions than normal. He was also moving more slowly than normal.

_ If he’s moving so slow, if he can easily be dodged, then why did Chrollo just let him touch him? _

“I see.” His mouth was moving, practicing being cool and calm. His brain was not catching up with it. “You should sleep off that fever. Don’t try to escape. You know what happens.”

And just like that, Chrollo was out the door, powering towards the library to get a book to distract him during his vigil. Just before the door shut, he almost caught the sound of a long, lonely, very drug induced whine at his absence.

_ It’s not my secret. _

So he still was protecting them, even drugged out and fucked up. Noted.

Notes. Chrollo needed to observe. Be a dispassionate onlooker. A spider with a fly in his web. Waiting for the kill.

Why was he the fly, then?


	5. The Stage and The Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Machi comes to chat with a recovering Hisoka.

Hisoka had a lot of regrets in his life. He absolutely had a lot of regrets.

At the moment, however, all of them were overshadowed by his regret of even letting the twins go to Edwin’s at all.

The three of them had argued about it. The whole thing had “trap” written all over it. Edwin gone, and taking three quarters of his guard and staff with him? It was, most assuredly, a trap, but the twins steadfastly believed that, given his profile, he couldn’t wipe a computer properly, and he was also too paranoid to hire someone to do it for him. They all knew he was the finance man of the ring. Every transaction, every hush payment, every buyout, everything went through him, and if they could get his financial records, they could follow the trail to the top. 

It was worth the risk, and Hisoka had begrudgingly allowed them to go. The twins were risk takers. He knew that. He had encouraged it, in fact, and that encouragement was coming back to bite him in the ass. Well, it was partially the encouragement, and partly his overprotective tendencies that had blossomed in the months following the revival of Chrollo’s Nen. It hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to. Well, it  _ had.  _ He had correctly predicted Chrollo would avoid a fight and go right back to the troupe. What he had  _ not  _ predicted was the troupe not coming to kill either him or Kurapika. He couldn’t draw them out, and when he couldn’t draw people out, he couldn’t make them dance to his tune.

He had been expecting them to hold a grudge, and he wanted to use that, but he had overestimated Chrollo’s capacity for any emotional attachment whatsoever. Chrollo wanted  _ things,  _ not people.

But Hisoka was still paranoid. Paranoid they were watching him, paranoid they knew about the twins, paranoid because he had built up a stack of enemies over the years, and no matter how hard the twins trained, no matter how powerful they became, they couldn’t defeat all of them.

They were all he had left, and the thought of losing them was enough to drive him to lose himself.

If they knew the truth of him restoring Chrollo’s Nen, if they knew that it was more than Hisoka simply maintaining his carefully constructed mask, his perfected disguise, they would be furious. They may even leave him for awhile, and while he was accustomed to people eventually becoming too disgusted with his persona to stick around, he couldn’t even handle the concept of them being disgusted with … Him. Hisoka, Hisoka, the fake and the other fake. He wasn’t sure which was real, anymore, really. Both? Neither?

And now here he was. Handcuffed in a bed, in borrowed clothes, gradually sobering up as Machi stared at him expressionlessly from the corner of the room. Hisoka didn’t want to look at her. He just stared up at the ceiling, in silence. Everything, ten years of tireless, thankless work was unraveling around him.

For all he pretended to not care, for as disgusting as he claimed to be, Hisoka felt a little violated. The twins were something he actually cared for. They were their own people, of course, but they were close to his heart. Special. His home. They were his home.

Machi had invaded his home. He supposed he deserved it. He couldn’t erase his responsibility of his disguise. He  _ was  _ responsible, and uninvolved people frequently had to be caught in the crossfire. Hisoka had to accept that, had to accept the consequences, but these particular consequences were not easy to accept.

“Was it all an act? All of it?” She was finally speaking. Hisoka almost preferred the foreboding silence.

“If you could never leave the stage, would you be able to tell the difference?”

Machi didn’t respond. She just kept staring at him, like she wanted to pick him apart, bit by bit, understand just what he was. Hisoka would love for her to do it. Maybe then he could understand himself.

“You seemed to be able to, with the twins.”

It stung. It stung, because he had never once lied to them, and yet here he was, caught in a lie.

“Did I?”

A non answer. He always fell back on non answers when he couldn’t bring himself to spout off another lie.

Machi moved closer to the bed, like a predator stalking her prey. Hisoka, for once in his life, felt vulnerable.

“How do you do it?”

Hisoka was quiet for a moment. There was water damage on the ceiling. If he stared at it enough, maybe it would go away.

“If you convince people that everything you say is a lie, then it’s easy to convince them to not look past the first truth. You have to … Take truths about yourself, exaggerate them, and then exaggerate the lies about yourself to convince them that the first exaggeration is what lies underneath. Only then you can throw in little falsehoods to build everything else up.”

He didn’t know why he was telling her this. He felt sick, in a way. He was being truthful, for once in his life, he was able to confide in someone not in his absolute immediate circle, that being the twins, Klaus, and once, only once, Kurapika. His handler had been dead for years, and that had been in a hole in his chest that no one else could quite fill.

He wasn’t ready for this. Being honest with people who had no intentions of appreciating that honesty.

“So are you really a creep?”

Hisoka finally laughed, letting his eyes slip shut in an effort to bid off tears.

“Yes and no. I am a very sexual person. But no, I have no sexual feelings towards children. It honestly sickens me. That’s why I … Formed the illusion of only being attracted towards people that can hold up against me in a fight. It narrowed it down, so my performance wasn’t found, well, wooden, and so I didn’t have to torment myself as much.”

Machi was quiet again.

“So are you attracted towards people that can kill you?”

“Yes. Isn’t everyone, secretly?”

Machi screwed her face up in distaste.

“No.”

“Lying is unbecoming for you, Machi. I was there when you fought that Hunter … Mmm, what was her name? Bisky, yes?”

“You’re locked in Zetsu. One punch from me could kill you.”

“My, my, Machi, don’t get me excited now, these pants leave little to the imagination. I would hate to be embarrassed.”

“You know, now that I know you aren’t such a creep, the leering falls a little flat.”

Hisoka frowned and finally sat up.

“It does? I thought that was fairly convincing.”

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Machi almost smiled.

“What are they like?”

“Who?”

“The twins. The ones you chased me down over, and had everyone convinced you were going after Chrollo over. Nearly died over.”

Hisoka went silent at that. He knew this was Machi trying to lure him into divulging further information about them. He knew this was a game to her, and yet … He had forgotten how much he wanted to brag about them, talk about how amazing they were, how much progress they’ve made, how much progress they continue to make, how easily they surpassed him in terms of raw power and determination.

How much they saved his life.

“They are … Hard to describe in one sentence. If I had to condense it, I would say …” And here he went, letting the dam break, showing his soft side, like an idiot. They were already in danger, anyways, and that was partially their own fault. Hisoka still felt responsible. It was only intuition that prompted him to follow them and get himself into this mess, after all. “They’re brash. Impulsive. A wicked sense of humor, witty, sharp on the uptake. Nyx is excellent at math, and Nox can write sonnets that’ll make you feel like you’re riding a cloud. They’re deceptive, too. You think they’re bullheaded teenagers, with their bodies moving before their brains, but then you turn around and they’ve suddenly found every single spot that makes you human, and you’re … powerless.”

Powerless was a good word to describe it for someone like Hisoka, who told the world he lived on power alone, senselessly chasing it and waiting for the day that it killed him. Perspective. It was perspective. If you told the world you didn’t fear death, that it was welcome, then you had already won.

When someone gave him a reason to fear it, to fear leaving the two things he cherished behind, then his only power was stripped away.

He didn’t fear leaving them behind in his death. He didn’t fear losing them like that.

He feared them being alone, robbed of any chance they had to build relationships in their youth, of what little family they had managed to gain being stripped from them. Sometimes, he had worried he made a mistake in giving them the choice. He should have carted them away somewhere safe, left them to build peace.

He didn’t want to abandon them like his handler. His handler had been all he had, and Hisoka had lost him, in a shockingly similar way to how the twins had misplaced Hisoka. Except his handler had died swiftly, and Hisoka had been aimless, until the twins. Ready to give up, go die when his work was done.

Would fortune smile on them when Chrollo inevitably killed Hisoka? Would fortune give them the family they had lost?

Machi still hadn’t replied. She was staring at Hisoka still, like she was trying to work out a puzzle.

“Why do they hate us?”

Hisoka just let that trademark smirk twitch at his lips, but, once again, it failed to reach his eyes.

“Not my secret to tell.”

Machi was still silent. 

“Staring at me won’t answer your questions, Machi.”

“No, but it  _ will  _ make you uncomfortable, and it’s high time someone did it.”

Hisoka snorted and looked down at the handcuffs. His hands were raw. He wasn’t sure when that had happened.

“Your doctor friend. In the memory. He said me fixing their pelvises wouldn’t work. Why? Does it have something to do with their sharing pain thing, whatever that is?”

Hisoka pursed his lips. He shouldn’t tell her. But they would eventually figure it out, anyways. Even so, he shouldn’t.

“I can’t tell you that. You can ask them, when they inevitably come blow a hole in the manor to collect my dead body.”

“Why do you think you’ll be dead?”

Hisoka blinked at her, surprised she hadn’t caught on.

“You got the information you needed, didn’t you? Shalnark will find the bungalow eventually, and from there he can easily figure out where we’ve hidden all of the evidence. I am no longer necessary. Of course Chrollo will kill me. I’m a nuisance, and a damn good one at that.”

Machi quirked a brow at that.

“Don’t be so sure. He’s not in a murder mood lately. He hasn’t even ordered Ky’ia to be killed yet.”

“Yes, because he can steal their Nen. I have never outwardly explained my hatsu to his face, despite his knowledge of how it works, so he can’t steal mine, so I am useless.”

Machi seemed amused. Hisoka wasn’t sure why.

“Whatever you say, Hisoka.” Without warning, she reached forward to place a cool hand on his still hot forehead. “You’re still running a fever. I’m going to go get you some food and more medicine. You should sleep it off. Don’t try to escape. I still don’t like you, and would be more than happy to skewer you with some threads.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Hisoka with a strange feeling of hope. She had tolerated his presence before. But now it almost seemed like she liked him.

It wasn’t his feelings she had to win over. As far as she was concerned, she owed nothing to the twins, so she didn’t have to fight to gain their understanding and forgiveness. If they killed him, that was it, it was sealed, there was no forgiveness to be had. If the twins were good at anything, it was holding a grudge.

He hoped this wouldn’t ruin their chances at happiness. He couldn’t help but feel like he had ruined enough for them. He didn’t want the final gift he bestowed to them to be just another grudge, another enemy to kill, another chance at peace dancing out of their grasp.

He shouldn’t have given them a choice.

Now that Machi was gone, he let one single tear well up and track a trail down his cheek.

_ “One tear, Soka,” the man said, looking down at the bruised and panting seventeen year old, covered in blood and viscera. “You get one tear. Otherwise they won’t stop, and breaking can never be an option.” _

_ Hisoka looked up at him as one single tear slipped down his cheek. _

_ “One tear,” he echoed, and just like that, it was a mantra. _

The memory faded as soon as it began and Hisoka reached up to push it away before climbing off the bed to go stand and stare out the window. The sun was setting over the mountains. It was beautiful.

He’d forgotten that he once loved beautiful things, before they just became a means to an end.

He was going to die in this manor. He knew he could never go up against the troupe at their full strength, and as far as he knew, every last one was accounted for. He could barely survive going up against Chrollo. Feitan alone could obliterate him and everything around him.

“I hope you two can forgive,” Hisoka whispered.

That was the one thing he never taught them to do. He regretted it now. But, he also knew that forgiveness was something to learn to do on your own.

If anything, he hoped they kept their promise. They did take promises seriously, after all. 

Finishing the job was first priority. Rescuing him was always, always second. Avenging him was third.

They were maybe six months away from completion. It was simply too close for the twins to falter now. They knew what they had to do.

He hoped he had taught them enough resolve to see it through.

Hisoka didn’t realize he had been standing at the window so long until the door opened again. This time, though, it wasn’t Machi walking through. It was Chrollo. Hisoka glanced over his shoulder, red hair spilling behind, and looked him up and down.

  
“Come to finish the job, then?”


	6. The Single Tear and The Many Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Chrollo have a conversation about Hisoka's impending death.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Hisoka's past as a CSA victim is mentioned in this chapter.

Chrollo was unsure of how to respond. He had avoided Hisoka for a good twelve hours, leaving him in Machi’s capable hands while he sobered up. In that time he had napped in the parlour, read a book, oversaw an arm wrestling battle with Franklin and Nobunaga, helped Shizuku find her glasses at least three times, and checked on Kalluto, who, as per usual, was being secretive, and not as per usual, making a friend. Ky’ia, to be precise. Now Chrollo _ really _couldn’t kill them, which was aggravating.

So, effectively, he had acted entirely out of character, and just about every troupe member was suspicious that Hisoka had somehow managed to drug him when he was high out of his mind.

Realistically, he could kill Hisoka. He no longer needed him. They had gleaned enough information from him that torturing out more would only be more effort than it was worth. Hisoka could die, right here, right now, and Chrollo shouldn’t care at all.

But Hisoka was a new puzzle.

That was what Chrollo told himself. Hisoka was a puzzle, begging to be solved, and unraveling him would be a delight.

Unraveling was probably not the best word choice.

“No,” Chrollo finally replied. Hisoka’s cheeks were still ruddy with fever. Was it ever going to break? “You should be in bed. Lay back down.”

Hisoka let out a soft puff of air. Amusement.

“Well. Now that I know you’re not going to kill me. No.”

What on earth had possessed Chrollo to want this attitude back?

Hisoka turned back to the window to look at the setting sun, deliberately ignoring Chrollo, so Chrollo simply slipped up beside him to watch.

“Why aren’t you going to kill me?” Hisoka finally asked. Chrollo watched the rays hit pale skin from the corner of his eye. Non answers. He could pick up a few things from Hisoka, too.

“I do what amuses me.”

That was probably a bad attempt.

“So it does not amuse you to kill me?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Ah. So I exist purely for your own whim.”

“Yes.”

“And I bit off my tongue, right here, right now, would that interrupt your whim?”

“Machi would sew it back on before you could bleed out.”

“Should we test that?”

Hisoka and Chrollo turned at once to face each other, and the tension in the room turned electric. Barely, just barely, Hisoka stuck out the tip of his tongue, just daring Chrollo to make a move. Chrollo didn’t budge an inch. Hisoka was deranged, unhinged, and one thing you never did in the face of derangement was react. A pin could drop. Dimly, Chrollo could pick up the sound of Hisoka’s heartbeat, smooth, cool under pressure, the exact beats per minute of a collected man.

He was toying with him.

Chrollo was not one to be toyed with, but what Hisoka wanted was a reaction, a punishment for his crimes, a harsh hand, to prove him right. He wouldn’t be rewarded the satisfaction.

The door creaked open and, just like that, the tension broke, like waves crashing on a beach as they both turned to face Machi, who regarded them with no small degree of suspicion, a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of broth in the other.

“What are you two doing?”

“Testing a theory,” Hisoka said airily. “I thought if I bit my tongue off, you wouldn’t get here in time to save me from bleeding out.”

Machi took that in stride, closing the door with her heel. The bowl and glass were set on the nightstand and she gestured to the bed.

“You wouldn’t. Sit.”

And just like that, Hisoka obeyed, meekly taking his seat before her. Machi pulled out some ointment to dab on his raw hands, the scabs having been picked off at some point or another. Chrollo deliberately hid his irritation. Of course Hisoka listened to Machi and challenged him.

He detested being challenged. In his own house, no less.

“How is that little darling Ky’ia?” Hisoka asked casually as Machi wrapped bandages around his hands and secured them a little _ too _tightly.

“They are fine. Kalluto seems to like them. They’re both holed up in the library, bonding over books on gender theory or whatever. Stop picking.”

Hisoka frowned at the admonishment and Chrollo just hung back, watching the two of them with dark eyes.

“Here.” Machi put two pills in one hand and the glass in another. “You need to actually sleep. Drink this, drink the broth, and go to bed. The fever will break if you actually let it.”

“I scarcely notice it, really,” Hisoka said calmly as he obediently swallowed the pills. “Using a spoon will be a bit difficult, you know.”

“Then Chrollo can feed you. I need to go make sure Shalnark isn’t going to start another electrical fire.”

Machi cast Chrollo a meaningful gaze. He knew that look. It was the ‘act like an actual person, and he might listen to you’ look. Chrollo did not like that look. Charm was exclusively reserved for jobs, and he hated it. Hisoka could see through him in a moment. It was pointless.

And with that, Machi left, leaving the two and their tension alone in a dark room.

Chrollo went to turn on the floor lamps. Hisoka sat in silence. Neither one, apparently, could figure out how Machi could chastise them for acting like children without even actually chastising them.

“So you haven’t killed Ky’ia,” Hisoka finally said. He looked like he was faced with a complex algebraic equation he couldn’t solve.

“Kalluto likes them,” Chrollo replied. “If my troupe members like someone, even new ones, I like to indulge them.”

“They punched Kalluto in the jaw.”

“I don’t think that sort of thing bothers Kalluto.”

Hisoka fell silent again, staring at the bowl of soup. He wasn’t up to the task of teasing Chrollo, really. So he wasn’t really up to the task of eating, despite having gone without food for days.

“We have two options here. Either you let me feed you without complaint, or I force feed you with much complaint.”

Hisoka almost let himself falter enough to glare. He was tired. He was bruised. His lip was nastily split. He felt like shit. He had a headache. He did not want to be force fed, and Chrollo was very, very capable of force feeding.

“You don’t need to make it sound so erotic.” His voice fell flat. He was too tired for this shit.

“Do you really have the energy for games, Hisoka?” Chrollo was like an unending tropical storm, and Hisoka was a hapless palm tree, clinging to his roots for dear life, unable to stave off the inevitable defeat that was to come.

“No.” Hisoka finally relented. He was tired, down to his bones. Fighting over such an immaterial thing, was, quite frankly, beyond him at the moment.

With that final concession, a final victory on Chrollo’s part, Hisoka let himself be nudged and moved to the center of the bed so Chrollo could sit and spoon hot soup into his mouth.

Machi really was perfect at everything. The soup was just the right temperature. It was disgusting, really, how perfect she was.

It was also disgusting how domestic this was. Take away the kidnapping and the handcuffs, and Chrollo could be playing the doting husband. Hisoka loathed it. To think the one idea that kept him going through the rough patches, the one promise of a life away from it all, was to be parodied in such a way in his final days.

Still, Hisoka let him feed him, down to the last drops. Silence ticked on in time with the clock on the wall while Chrollo sat there, looking at the empty bowl like it was going to give him some answers.

“Why by yourself?” Chrollo finally asked. “You told me. Ten years. The twins aren’t that old.”

Hisoka sighed. More information. More interrogations. More stuff they could just apparently rip from his head if they felt like it. He was such a traitor. A coward, really.

“I don’t think information on them will get you the sarcophagus. They just want the information destroyed, so I fail to see how this helps you.”

“It doesn’t.” That was surprisingly honest. “I just want to know.”

“And why should I tell you?”

“Your answers may determine how I choose to have my troupe react when the twins come.”

“They won’t be coming anytime soon. By then, you’ll have forgotten about it.”

“I rarely forget.”

Hisoka finally dragged up his eyes to look at Chrollo.

“It won’t matter how _ you _have them react. If I’m dead, you’ll be forced to kill them.”

He hated it. He hated saying it out loud, admitting it.

_ They didn’t have to give him permission. They just had to give him power. _

And here Hisoka was, giving them the power to get themselves killed. He had failed them. He had failed them in so many ways.

“And if you aren’t dead?”

“You won’t be able to stand me enough to keep me alive that long.”

“How long? Does the length depend on the promise you mentioned before they got away?”

Shit. There it was again. When had Hisoka started making so many mistakes?

When he started caring, he supposed. The twins were his Achilles heel.

He pursed his lips and looked away, out the window, at the dusk, just out of grasp. It was their time of the day, Nyx and Nox. They loved dusk.

“So that’s a yes, then.”

Hisoka still didn’t reply.

He had to at least give them a chance. If that meant complying in the hopes of not being killed, so be it.

“I was approached when I was sixteen,” he finally said. “By a blacklist hunter. At the time I was … coping with the best way I knew how.”

“Coping with that?”

Hisoka didn’t like this. Baring his darkest secrets to the darkest man he knew.

“I didn’t run away to join the circus. I was sold. When I was five, by my parents, for drug money. The circus was a front for the operation.”

He still remembered how the blood of his parents dripped from his fingers. They hadn’t recognized him. He didn’t care. He didn’t feel better. Much like the twins. It seemed like a moment that was doomed to repeat itself.

Chrollo was silent, listening.

“Most kids are culled at the age of twelve. If they were especially expensive, or rare, like the twins, they’re put on puberty blockers.” He could see the dam in his mind, starting to crack. “I escaped the cull, which is funny, because the reason I could was because one of my … clients … had taught me Nen in secret. My hatsu it was … Originally a fetish. We weren’t supposed to learn.”

The water was beginning to spill.

“I guess killing him with it was in a way reclaiming it for myself. I used it. I used the weapon they gave me to … Take them down.”

It hurt to say. The one thing that defined him was something that had been built for the pleasure of others.

“I was aimless, without direction when he found me. At that time, I had killed maybe half of the clients I could actually remember. He gave me a choice. The same choice I gave to them, if you recall.”

If he recalled when he invaded Hisoka’s mind, defiled his most prized possession, his memories of a family he never thought he’d have. The word recall came out a little more bitter than he meant it to.

“I chose war, and he … started training me. I was an unofficial blacklist hunter. A Zodiac, I don’t know which one, had assigned him to the task. The ring has even infiltrated the hunter association. After ten years, I know of at least seventy five hunters involved. That’s why I had to do it alone. Anyone could talk, anyone could have even the slightest slip up, a tip off.”

“And your handler?”

“He died. Maybe three years in. I was nineteen, I think. It's hazy. I try to forget about the details. I found the twins a year later.”

Chrollo was quiet again, soaking in the information. Hisoka hated himself.

Chrollo, meanwhile, was having a realization.

Edwin did not deserve to simply give away the sarcophagus. He deserved to have everything taken from him. Right down to his heart, ripped from his chest.

It was an odd realization, to discover that he wanted vengeance for a crime that had not been done to him. It was an even odder realization to discover that he wanted to be judge, jury, and executioner, and not a realization he particularly wanted to explain to the troupe.

“Hisoka.”

“Yes?”

“Do they take children from Meteor City?”

“... Well, I mean, obviously. No one is exactly going to go looking, no offense.”

There. That would be easier to explain.

Hisoka watched Chrollo. As always, the man was unreadable. Hisoka wasn’t sure what was going through his brain. Was he angry? Contemplative? Mildly irritated? Hisoka wasn’t sure. Previously, he had adored that Chrollo was so unreadable. It made things easy for him, to poke and prod at glacial people. It helped.

He did not like it now.

“What is it like?”

“What is what like?”

“To pretend to be the thing you hate.”

Hisoka smirked, like he always did, and it seemed that he was still struggling to make it meet his eyes. He’d gone from an enigma, an eternal trickster, to a man just barely holding it together, clinging to this facade he had built over a decade while it all crashed down around him.

He was in remarkably better shape than Chrollo anticipated, fever and headache and all.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a script ready for that one.”

Chrollo finally shifted, looming over Hisoka, acting on nothing but pure instinct.

“What are you going to do, Hisoka, when that mask of yours finally dissolves?”

He was close, too close, his breath ghosting across Hisoka’s lips, which were slowly parting in shock.

“I don’t know.”

It was unbearably honest. Hisoka could feel himself dissolving, dissolving right in front of Chrollo.

Just one tear. Only one.

Chrollo seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled back.

“You need to sleep. I will sedate you if I have to.”

“And what about you? This is your bed.”

Business. Back to business. Hisoka didn’t understand anything that was going on, what was happening to him, why Chrollo was doing this to him. Is this what he was aiming for?

“I will be sleeping in the chair.”

“You can’t break me,” Hisoka blurted. Chrollo stopped, almost looking confused. It seemed like he was picking up acting from Hisoka.

“I know what you’re doing,” Hisoka babbled, reaching out for control, control that was dancing away from him.

_ Just one tear. _

“You aren’t killing me because you like it when they’re broken. Defeated. But you can’t break me. You lost before you began.”

“What do you mean?” Chrollo wasn’t sure what Hisoka was on about. _ He _didn’t even know what the fuck he was doing.

Hisoka looked up at him, all of that rage and hurt in his glistening eyes.

“You lost before you began,” he repeated. “I broke myself long before you came around. I broke myself the moment I chose war, and I failed the twins when I let them make that choice, too. So you’ve already lost. I’ve won. You might as well get on with it and kill me.”

Chrollo stared back, speechless for a moment as he tried to reason with the emotions that were welling up in his chest.

“I’ll get a sedative,” he replied bluntly and made for the door, desperately trying to escape Hisoka and the room where all of these feelings were blossoming.

Chrollo broke everything. Families, hearts, people, lives. He broke and he broke and he broke and he carved a path of destruction wherever he went.

The feeling of wanting to fix something was foreign to him.

He wanted to fix something.

And he didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo: Are you challenging me in my own damn house.
> 
> Hisoka: Absolutely.
> 
> Machi: I am surrounded by idiots.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around! So I lied, I somehow managed to pound out several chapters. There's a pretty wide cast range being developed, with a lot of character perspectives in different chapters, and it's going from slow burn to extremely sloooowww burn as a result. I hope no one minds!


	7. The Carrot and the Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the new information from Hisoka, Chrollo is caught in a conundrum. Thankfully, Shalnark has an answer to his problems, or a way to make them worse.

Shalnark and Machi and Ky’ia, who was miraculously still around, were on a gag order. The other troupe members had turned it into a guessing game, with the antics steadily rising to get Hisoka’s secret out, and three days after the ritual, it had dissolved into a full scale war. Literally no one was taking Chrollo seriously, and it was starting to rankle him, because while he  _ knew  _ Machi at least wouldn’t slip up, Shalnark was questionable at best, and Ky’ia was an entirely unknown factor he couldn’t control. Really, he should have killed them and dumped them into a ditch somewhere, but gods, he was starting to develop a soft spot for Kalluto and their little secretive self. It was amusing that they thought their status as a Zoldyck was a secret. Everyone just knew not to bring it up. It likely upset them.

They  _ were  _ very good at hiding their Nen ability. That was, until they lost their temper with Phinks, who was badgering their newfound “friend”, or whatever was going on there, and sent him flying through a wall with a shower of origami birds.

Shalnark had been appropriately enthralled, Phinks was unamused, Nobunaga could not stop laughing, and Chrollo was either going to kill everyone or send everyone away on a mission before he did so.

It was then that Shalnark literally solved his problem for him.

“You know, Danchou, if Edwin is any indicator of what this ring looks like, I bet they have a  _ lot  _ of rare stuff worth stealing.”

Shalnark had tried to mention it offhand, casual and cool, but Shalnark was utterly shit at lying or even remotely hiding his intentions. He looked hopeful. Whether he just wanted an end to the literal chaos destroying the manor, or he actually wanted to join in on Hisoka’s crusade, or both, Chrollo didn’t know, nor did he care. Shalnark, despite being an idiot, was, as usual, the smartest one in the room.

Chrollo looked over at Hisoka’s dead phone, laying on the desk in Shalnark’s little hideaway. Shalnark hadn’t gotten any information out of it, but he had gotten the twins’ numbers.

Brain whirring, Chrollo picked up the phone and the charger.

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Half an hour later, he had yet to send a message. He’d typed the same thing about seven times, but he wasn’t sure what to do, or how to offer the deal. Or what he could even offer them that wouldn’t send them onto a murderous rampage.

He needed to stop the rampage in his  _ house  _ first.

With a sigh, he accepted whatever consequences would come of his actions, and started typing.

**This is Chrollo. I have a proposition for you.**

It took less than five minutes for an expectedly heated reply.

**What the fuk do u want dipshit**

Apparently, Hisoka had taught them everything but class. Well. It was to be expected.

**First of all, I would like to state that beyond some bruising following an escape attempt, Hisoka is unharmed.**

**Pics or it didn’t happen.**

This was by far the strangest hostage negotiation Chrollo had ever participated in.

**I’m not taking a picture of someone while they’re sleeping.**

**I’m sure he’ll forgive you.**

Oh, for fucks sake …

With a growl, Chrollo exited the sanctuary of his study and stalked for the bedroom, where Hisoka was completely passed out, recovering after the fever finally breaking less than twelve hours previously. Feeling weirdly dirty, he snapped a quick picture and sent it.

**Wow you really are a creep**

**Do you want to keep being difficult or do you want to actually hear what I have to say?**

**Gods it must suck to get old and lose your sense of humor. Fine. What do you want?**

Chrollo was really at a loss. Had they made Hisoka or had he made them? Part of him wanted to threaten them, terrify them, give them something to fear, but that would be completely unproductive. He could play nice with some rowdy playmates. He just hoped it wouldn’t end in a fiery cataclysm with the rest of the troupe. They would either love them or hate them.

**My proposition is this. I know what your goals are, how long you’ve worked for them, and what you hope to accomplish. I understand you are reaching some sort of deadline that Hisoka has, as per usual, been noncommunicative about. I will release Hisoka to you, unharmed beyond the current injuries. This will happen irregardless of your answer. I have no reason to impede him, as I am aware one of their sources is Meteor City, and I have a stake there, which overrides my current contract with Edwin.**

Here he paused, waiting for a reply.

**Sounds neat. You must be a carrot guy. When is the stick coming?**

Machi had mentioned something about the twins being witty. This was too much. He didn’t even know which one he was talking to. Presumably Nox, as it was their phone, but it could easily be Nyx. They seemed to be the type to share everything. Including pain, apparently.

**No stick. The real proposition is this: I have Machi take fixing your pelvises at no charge into consideration. I understand you have some reason to hate us, though the reason is unclear. I am aware that we have given many people reason to hate us. This is not an attempt at amends. I wouldn’t insult you like that. In return for Machi’s consideration, I would request that you allow us to assist you in your final stages. If I am correct, you will likely need a lot of brawn, and are not interested in going down traditional routes. Ordinary hunters and muscle can’t provide the sort of carnage my people can give you.**

The reply didn’t come for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes spent checking the phone every thirty seconds.

**Sounds sweet. How do you intend on convincing your people to kill hundreds of people and perform such a laborious task for free?**

Ah. So they were more than quick comebacks.

**Well, to be quite honest, I was going to tempt them with the fact that these are all rich people preying on their home city, with lots of items that can be stolen, sold, and the money distributed back to the city.**

He really, really hoped that was a good enough reply.

**Not good enough. In the aftermath, we’re setting up an anonymous non profit for the victims. They aren’t all from Meteor City. 25% must be donated to the non profit or no deal.**

Business minded. Was that Hisoka’s idea, or theirs?

**Hisoka mentioned he wanted to give the bodies back to the families. I assume there are mass graves somewhere. I’ll donate 25, and I’ll cover as many of the funerals as I can out of pocket. Deal?**

**We’ll agree when we see Hisoka. Your location has already been tracked. We’re on our way.**

Less than five seconds later, his phone dinged again.

**Also, you can let Hisoka know we know EXACTLY why he gave you your Nen back, and we’ll consider us even, considering we got him into this mess, so he can stop stressing. We will be there in one day.**

What even were these two? How had they managed to irritate him more than Hisoka had ever even managed with nothing but a mere text chat?

He needed to talk to Machi. Then Hisoka. Then the troupe.

Shalnark was an excellent problem solver, until his answers created more problems. This was going to be a disaster, and Chrollo knew it. They had managed to lay low for awhile, stay off the Hunter Association radar, and now Chrollo had gone and thrown them into a literal espionage warzone which was going to build up into a massacre.

The troupe had been dying for a good battle for awhile now, but Chrollo wasn’t sure this is what they wanted.

The die had been cast. The twins were on their way, anyways. He had about twenty four hours to convince all interested parties to get on board.

It was going to be entirely voluntary, anyways. They may miss a few team members, but they should be able to pull it off.

The text was sent summoning Machi, and up to the study she came, looking frazzled and tired.

“Who was bothering you?”

“All of them.”

With a long, heavy sigh, she collapsed into the armchair across from Chrollo.

“I really hope you called me in here to tell me the gag order is off.”

“Not yet,” he replied and pushed Hisoka’s phone across the desk to her. Her brows furrowed, she scrolled through the chat log.

“So, you’ve decided to free up even more Nen for two obnoxiously powerful people with a grudge against us, in particular,” she finally stated flatly.

“Yes.”

“And you see no way that this will backfire.”

“It’s a gamble. You don’t gamble unless you have sufficiently high stakes.”

“And so we’re helping them take down a literal continent wide ring of pedophiles out of the goodness of our hearts and some money that may or may not get destroyed in the mayhem.”

Ah, Machi. She never questioned him in front of the others, but was always willing to flat out argue with him in private.

Chrollo shrugged and locked the phone again.

“They’re targeting Meteor City. I’m sure they’ll have evidence that corroborates.”

“And you didn’t think to tell them to bring it with them so we can at least have  _ something  _ to go off of before we decide to ignite another continent wide manhunt?”

“Kids go missing all the time in the city. You know this. Not even we can track it.”

“Yeah,  _ we  _ can’t track it, so what makes you think  _ they _ can?”

“Because that’s what their entire life revolves around. They’ve trained for five years to be able to do this. Hisoka has trained for ten. That much we can be certain of. I’m not so much of a small man that I can’t admit when someone is better at something than me.”

Machi looked frustrated. Irritated, even. He needed her on his side.

“Do you not  _ want  _ to?”

“Of course I want to,” Machi snapped. “I’m always on your side. This is about convincing the troupe that you’re on their side.”

“They seem sharp. The twins. I’m sure they thought to bring evidence before they left.”

“Why don’t you text and ask before they get too far away?”

Ah. Right.

**If it isn’t too much trouble, please bring some evidence of the targets on Meteor City for the troupe.**

He set down the phone and looked back at Machi passively.

“Happy?”

“Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Admit what?”

Machi sighed, as if she was stuck with the world’s biggest idiot in an escape room.

“You’ll figure it out eventually. Never mind. Yes, I will happily take a look to see what I can do, but if my guesses are right, it’s out of the range of what I can do.”

“Your guesses?”

“Sharing pain. I did some digging, and there’s a tribe that I am pretty sure is extinct now, some massacre or something, called the Gemini. Twins of the tribe are considered ‘blessed by gods’. If damage is inflicted on one, half of the damage is dispersed to the other. It can save their lives, but also kill them. If one dies, so does the other. If my guesses are correct, that means that if, say, something as delicate and hard to heal as pelvises are shattered, like theirs were, then any minute fractures would show up on the other. So they would be impossible to heal short of major surgery, and even then it would be difficult, because every single move would have to be simultaneous, and with as many fractures as they have, surgery would be, effectively, impossible, and make everything worse. Dr. Klaus Brentson is a geneticist. He’s famous in the medical realm for being a genius with curing and treating genetic diseases. If even he thought it was a hopeless case, it’s probably hopeless. Or, he was able to quote unquote cure them, but they likely didn’t want it, due to their religious affiliations and the fact that it would, quite frankly, in their minds, be a desecration to what’s left of their clan.” Machi sat back in her chair after her lengthy diatribe and rubbed at her eyes. Chrollo realized, halfway through her monologue, that she had already been considering it, and doing the research into it. “I would have to literally have a double. I couldn’t do it myself. It would have to be an exact copy of me, with my exact Nen abilities, tuned to my exact frequency. Even the slightest changes in hand positions could fuck it all up. And there is no one that can create a double like that. It just isn’t possible. So, no. I can’t do it.”

Chrollo took a breath to respond, but then the phone chirped at him with a text.

**Of course we already got it. You act like we're amateurs.**

Chrollo barely resisted the urge to inform that by literal definition, as they were doing the jobs of blacklist hunters, they were, in fact, amateurs.

It was just like Hisoka.

He was not going to rise to the bait.

"Well. At least examine them, please. I need to go speak to Hisoka."

A traitorous voice whispered in the back of Chrollo's mind, reminding him that instead of Hisoka's world crashing, it was Chrollo's, but he ignored that, too.

Machi said something, he didn't catch it, and then she was out the door, leaving him to drum his fingers on the desk pensively.

He could have just set up his own trap. They could be coming here with enough firepower and manpower to blow the place skyhigh. He didn't know why they had a grudge. Grudges were silly, inconsequential, and he knew that. He had opened himself up to a game without knowing any of the pieces on the board, and for the life of him, he didn't know why or how. He just. Did it. Without a thought, really. Not an actually critical one.

Shalnark wanted to, he supposed. That was a decent reason. Machi, too. He rarely denied his spiders anything, even if he didn't understand it. You didn't have to understand people to make them happy. If Shalnark wanted to go on a murderous rampage, who was he to tell him no?

He was the danchou, of course, and he could absolutely tell any of them no, whenever he wanted, but maybe the group could do well with a little actual justified murder for once, in the eyes of general morality. In general terms, it could be called a team building exercise. Their biggest and bloodiest heist yet.

It would be fun.

It might be a bit of a stain on their reputation, but hey, that was what the theft was for.

They weren't a band of marauding robin hoods.

He knew he was sitting here thinking to avoid seeing Hisoka. He had actually been quite successful at avoiding him for the past few days, as soon as he gave him the sedative. He'd been sleeping in a guest room, in fact, and left the management of the soon to be not prisoner to Machi, who had immediately informed him she was not a babysitter for whatever deranged clownish strays he picked up.

He just couldn't wrap his brain around this new puzzle, but he didn't want to wreck it either. Maybe that's why he texted the twins. To get it off of his hands.

And then he had immediately volunteered himself and the troupe to be even  _ closer  _ to the colorful puzzle and signed up for a caped crusade.

It was no wonder he couldn't understand Hisoka.

He couldn't even understand himself.

He just couldn't understand how a man who had sacrificed everything, given up everything, suffered through everything, and come out on top with gritted teeth and firmer resolve, could consider himself broken.

How had such a degenerate who had gained so much, dare he say it, respect, from Chrollo, against all the odds, even against Chrollo's  _ own  _ principles, be broken?

It simply didn't make sense.

Chrollo didn't respect broken things. But he'd seen it in Hisoka's eyes. He wasn't lying. He was telling the truth.

Broken things didn't prevail.

But Hisoka had.

He was beaten. He was beaten and he was still going.

Chrollo had broken many people, many times.

They never got back up.

Could it be that Hisoka wasn't broken  _ enough _ ?

Chrollo liked simplicity.

Broken things stayed down.

Simple. Easy.

Hisoka wasn't down.

He just could not understand.

But he had 24 hours to talk to Hisoka, so he was just going to have to shelve that for the moment, suck it up, and go see him.


	8. The Mask and the Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo approaches Hisoka and the troupe. One conversation is easy. One is not.

Hisoka was still silent. Chrollo had been waiting for ten minutes now, watching the clock over the bed tick down each agonizing second.

The cuffs had been removed. Hisoka seemed angry enough that he could lash out at any second. Chrollo almost regretted taking them off. He had promised Hisoka unharmed, after all. Hisoka had been so concerned about the twins getting themselves killed with their temper, and Chrollo was starting to understand that fear from his own perspective.

He didn't like fear.

"Why?"

Thank gods, he finally spoke.

"Do I need a reason? I never did before."

"Yes." Hisoka was finally looking at him, and Chrollo felt like he was being stabbed through the chest. "Yes, you  _ do  _ need a reason."

"Because I want to."

"Because it  _ amuses  _ you," Hisoka supplied, and Chrollo could see the rage turn from a smoulder to a flame. "Because my life's work  _ amuses  _ you. Because someone subverted your expectations, and now they're slightly more interesting than a fly to you."

"You seem to have a low opinion of me." Why did Chrollo's throat feel so dry?

Hisoka let out a bitter laugh and finally rose from the bed to stalk towards Chrollo, his Nen beginning to flare.

"Do you have  _ any  _ idea what it's like?" Hisoka hissed. "Do you?"

Chrollo subtly shifted back one foot, expecting Hisoka to fly at him.

"Hisoka. You know you can't win this. Calm down."

" _ No _ ," Hisoka snarled. "Do you have any fucking clue? Do you? To live for a fucking  _ decade _ , carefully becoming the thing that you hate more than anything else in the fucking world, pretending to be a monster, a fiend, a fucking  _ rapist _ , to convince the whole motherfucking world it should hate you, to never take off the mask even for a second to breathe, to the point where you realize you  _ don't even know what you are anymore _ ?"

Hisoka was close now. His Nen was furious, angry, reeking of pain and loss. Chrollo knew that it was best to say silent, to not give him a reason to strike.

"Do you have any idea, how much it kills you, every fucking time you have to walk away from a child you  _ know  _ you could save, you  _ know  _ you could give a chance, just one goddamn chance, but you know the second you start, it won't end, and your cover will be blown, and then it would have all been for  _ nothing _ ?" He was shaking. Chrollo had a desire to grab his hand. For just a moment, his own twitched, wanting to reach out and touch, and he realized in a split second that Hisoka was beautiful when he wanted to cry.

"You have no fucking clue." The rage ebbed, and turned, like the tide, and Chrollo found that there were words he didn't know stuck in his throat. "You couldn't begin to understand, because you could never begin to care. I see now. I'm just an experiment to you. A new thing you want to study for awhile and throw away. That’s all anything I have ever done is to you. A petri dish. So, no. I do not agree. You will  _ not  _ be helping us. You can sit on the fucking sidelines for all I care, but this is  _ mine,  _ and it isn’t a fucking toy to amuse yourself with."

Knives. There were knives in Chrollo's chest, and he realized any word he could come up with would be useless. He wanted to be angry, to lash back out, tell Hisoka he had it all wrong, he didn't know him, how could he know Chrollo when he barely knew himself? But, for some reason, Chrollo couldn't find it in him to hurt him more. He didn't want to.

Even so, his defense mechanisms kicked in, and he went cold.

"Put aside your feelings," he said, and a part of him broke to say it, because putting aside his feelings was the last thing Hisoka should do, "and realize you can use us. You don't know who you are? Then be the person you made until you can figure it out. Don't let that effort go to waste."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, remembering how Hisoka had once quietly thanked Klaus for being merciful.

He hoped Hisoka could see that was what he was doing here.

It felt like the conversation had lasted for an eternity as the door clicked shut. There was a sob on the other side. Chrollo couldn't dwell on that for now.

Two minutes. It had taken two minutes for Hisoka to let Chrollo catch a glimpse of a decade, no, more, of trauma, and Chrollo felt as though time had stopped in motion.

Hisoka would snap out of it and realize he was being given an incredible tool, just as his twins had. He would know not to throw it away. Of that, Chrollo was certain. It was only a matter of waiting it out.

Chrollo could wait. He had all the patience in the world.

Now, it was only a matter of discussing it with the troupe. Before they utterly destroyed his house. He was going to have them on cleanup duty for months at this rate.

Chrollo couldn't remember a time when he ever felt so uncertain.

Hisoka had done a number on him.

_ You could never begin to care. _

He was right. Chrollo didn't know what it was to care, so why did he feel like he was? Like he had something on the line? What even was on the line?

Here he was, thinking he could break any man, woman, or person before them. Tread on them, like ants, and yet right now, it felt like he was the one being broken. By Hisoka Morrow, of all the fucking people, and he wasn’t even  _ trying. _

He didn't know what to do. He set a plan in motion, like he always did, when he wanted something, but he didn't know  _ why  _ he  _ wanted  _ it.  _ Why  _ had never mattered before, but now it did.

He didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

The troupe was waiting for him in the ballroom, and he didn’t even know what to say. He wasn’t one for speeches, and explanations before this had been succinct, to the point, only as long as they were necessary. He didn’t know how to break all of this down for them, to explain why he  _ wanted.  _ Because he did have to explain, this time. He had to, because no one else was going to get it if he didn’t. After all, this was essentially violent philanthropy. The items they would inevitably steal weren’t the main goal, and his spiders would know it.

It was at least in part about Meteor City.  _ That  _ his founding members could understand. Even the new members could understand, at least a little. The troupe controlled the city. No one took from the city without permission, and  _ none  _ of this had been done with theirs. In all actuality, this could be about them defending their reputation, and letting the world know: you didn’t take from them without permission. Because this had, conceivably, been going on for decades. Chrollo could even recall friends from his own childhood disappearing in the night. In all actuality, the troupe were the newcomers here, the upstarts, shaking up the power balance all over again.

It almost felt good to be an upstart again.

This was about making an example of those who thought they could get away with challenging them.

It wasn’t about Hisoka.

It wasn’t about how he was destroying the entire understanding Chrollo had of the world without so much as a lift of the finger.

It. Was. About. The. Spider.

_ Two things can be true at once. _

Traitorous thoughts he couldn’t entertain as he pushed open the doors to the ballroom. Every spider collectively looked up, and Chrollo made a mental note to not let Kalluto in on this one.

Everyone was waiting for him to say something.

“We’re going to war.”

Silence reigned for a second, and then the room exploded in chatter.

“Over what?”

“Who are we killing?”

“Why are we doing  _ that _ ?”

“I’m confused. There’s no wars going on? Like, on the news?”

“That sounds like effort.”

“What does Hisoka have to do with  _ war _ ?”

“Can you all just shut up and let him talk?”

Chrollo held up a hand and the room fell into silence, all eyes on him. Right. Now for the sales pitch. Should he frame this about pride? Disrespect? Money? Which should he start with?

The carrot. Of course, the carrot.

“The reason for the gag order on Machi, Shalnark, and Ky’ia,” who was, miraculously, still alive and in the corner with Kalluto, “was because the ritual dive we made into Hisoka’s memories revealed some heavily unexpected information, information that I was unsure of how to act on.”

The troupe was quiet still, waiting for him to get to the point.

“It would seem that Hisoka is not actually who he says he is. In a way. He  _ is  _ Hisoka Morrow, but it would appear that his personality and … disagreeable nature were a cover that he has held for the past ten years, while investigating a, I assume, thirty year old sex trafficking ring. Child. Sex trafficking ring.”

And, then there was the explosion again.

“Wait, what?”

“Hisoka  _ is  _ a pedophile, how was he planning on  _ investigating  _ pedophiles? He’d have to turn himself in while he was at it!”

“Did you miss the part where he said  _ cover,  _ Phinks?”

“ _ No  _ cover is that convincing!”

“It is when you’ve been doing it for ten years!”

“I highly doubt that!”

“I don’t think that’s the  _ point  _ here. Wasn’t danchou supposed to be investigating some random twins? How did all of  _ this  _ pop into that equation?”

“If you all would shut up,” and here Machi’s voice cut through the cacophony, “I’m sure the danchou will explain.”

Dependable Machi.

Chrollo waited patiently as the din subsided. Kalluto was silent in the corner, seemingly unmoved by this revelation. Distantly, Chrollo wondered if their family knew about the ring. Likely. They shielded their children from very little.

“Two additional things have come to my attention,” Chrollo continued once he finally received silence. “The first being that these are very rich people, with a lot of valuable items to be stolen. The second being that it would seem that Meteor City has been a long term hunting ground for them, and they have continued to use it as such since we have taken command of the city.”

Nobunaga got it. Shizuku was unsure as to what was going on. Kotorpi, as usual, was unreadable, as was Feitan. Phinks was a little slow on the uptake, and, as per custom, Franklin was coming in last. And, of course, Bono was still covered in bandages, so of course no information could be gleaned from some linen wraps.

“We aren’t the type to march to someone else’s drum. You all know that. However, I see an opportunity here. First of all, the opportunity to make an example of someone. It’s been some time since we were considered upstarts. I think we could all do with a refresher course. I don’t much like my territory being disrespected. Meteor City is  _ ours,  _ but they seem to have ignored that.” Likely because they knew Chrollo would have slaughtered them on the spot had they gone to him for their blessing, but that was beside the point. “Secondly, Hisoka was going to destroy them irregardless, and I hate to be wasteful. Think of all of the rare artifacts he would have wrecked in his rampage. Honestly, it’s too good of an opportunity to go to waste.”

“Er, danchou, question.” Phinks was looking a little lost. “I thought you were drawing out information on the twins. How do they factor into all of this?”

Ah. Right. This would be a little difficult to explain. He couldn’t very well tell them one of them had cussed him out, called him a pervert, and tracked their location in a matter of minutes.

“The twins are Hisoka’s partners in this. I recently contacted them and offered Hisoka’s release, among other things, in return for their cooperation.”

“And  _ why  _ do we need Hisoka and these twins at all? Can’t we just pull off the heist ourselves?”

“They have ten  _ years  _ worth of research and data under their belts.” Machi was speaking up, possibly to save Chrollo from the awkwardness of lying. “Why should we expend energy stealing that information, or gathering it ourselves, when we can just  _ ask  _ for it?”

“That kind of robs the fun out of it, doesn’t it?” Franklin frowned. Of course not even the idea of an actual justified bloodbath could content him.

“Given their capabilities,” Chrollo interjected, remembering how they had actually put Machi and him on the defensive while maintaining a defense themselves, even for how brief the fight was, and their immediate tactical decision to hold their ground only for as long as they needed, “I would rather not be dealing with enemies on two fronts. From what I can gather, there are high classed hunters in this ring. Hisoka has not provided full details. There could be hundreds of Nen users we may be going up against. This is a large scale operation. There is no sense in wasting time and energy where we don’t need to. Besides, I’m sure, even on our side, they’ll provide you with plenty of  _ fun _ , Franklin.”

Franklin grumbled, but he seemed satiated.

“Anyone who doesn’t want in on this heist,”  _ bloodbath _ , “raise your hand.”

Surprisingly, no hands went up. It seemed as though Chrollo had actually managed to convince them. Not that there were any doubts (there were). They’d follow him to hell.

“Kalluto, you’re benched for this one.”

At  _ that,  _ Kalluto looked up.

“Why?”

“While I am sure you can easily murder anyone you want to,” and here came the unwanted reminder that Kalluto was a child, “I am not sending a twelve year old into a den of pedophiles.”

“I’m thirteen!” Liar.

“That in no way proves me wrong.”

“I’ve seen worse!”

“I’m sure.”

“A couple of fifteen year olds just helped take down a Chimera Ant invasion!” 

_ You can literally just say your brother. _

“That’s just shorthand for Ging Freecs is a terrible father who thinks he needs to traumatize his abandoned kid into adulthood,” Phinks pointed out.

Shalnark snickered in the corner, and a glare from Chrollo shut him up.

“Actually, I fought the Ants, too!” Kalluto was a master at selective hearing. Chrollo was not looking forward to dealing with them as a teen. He’d have to ask Hisoka for pointers.

“Kalluto, the Ants didn’t want to fuck you.” 

“Franklin!” A thread soared across the room and pierced through Franklin’s arm, and, fearing more walls getting knocked out, Chrollo spoke up again.

“It’s all settled. Someone go work on dinner, I don’t care who, and no one, I mean no one, try to instigate a fight with the twins when they get here. This house was expensive. You all are replacing my walls.”

With that, he was fleeing the room. Hopefully, this time tomorrow Hisoka would come around, and the house wouldn’t be blown sky high. Chrollo needed a nap. It was a pity he still hadn’t moved Hisoka from his room.

He liked that bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have mentioned the inevitable Ging bashing that would pop up in this fic. Whoops.


	9. The Dusk and the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins arrive at the manor, and are suitably unimpressed with the carnage and confusion.

Dusk. Nox and their sibling adored dusk. It smelled different, just shy of the night, and nothing looked like itself. Some would argue that the sly two hours before dawn was the perfect time to strike an unsuspecting victim, but Nox disagreed. Sure, they were tired, confused, disoriented in that middle time, but dusk was the perfect time to strike because it was right at the cusp of night ascending, and night covered a multitude of sins. Dusk was the time when you could ask the gods for forgiveness.

It was appropriate, then, that they arrived at the sprawling manor with several walls missing at dusk. The two quietly purring motorcycles cut their engines, and Nox looked up at the massive structure.

It had been a long time since Hisoka had found them. In that time, Nox and Nyx had accepted that they had to become just as monstrous as the monsters they faced to defeat them. They couldn’t hold on to purity. Purity could be found when they were done.

However, they hadn’t imagined it going this way, teaming up with a troupe of literal genocidal mass murderers to achieve their goals.

Nox and Nyx had argued about it. Extensively. Nyx saw value in the move. This way, they could actually achieve a simultaneous strike, instead of planned ones across the country, which would have given their prey a heads up and time to run. The info dump would have gone as planned, however. Let them be judged in the court of public opinion before they ever made it to the law. They had estimated roughly half of the ones that got the chance run would be killed before they ever got safety by blacklist hunters looking to exact revenge. Or even by angry mobs.

This was going to lower survival rates, and ensure more releases of the victims, rather than the “evidence” being destroyed before they could testify in court.

The main goal, they had to stress, would be to kill the wealthiest ones, who could buy their freedom through lawyers or bribes. The middle men, the ones with less connections, less mobility, less power, were a lower priority. The goal was to ensure no one, or at least very few, could escape either justice or death. Whichever was fine.

Nox had been against joining forces with the troupe. Logic was fine and all, but this was about morality. Nyx had reminded them multiple times that literally everything they were doing was amoral, as justified as it was, but Nox had a lot of heart. They weren’t a glacier like their twin. They didn’t like it. The troupe could easily stab them in the back. It would be second nature to them to put them down.

Like dogs.

If Hisoka had considered them important enough to integrate himself, they were most certainly the lowest of the low.

So Nox didn’t like it.

Nyx had won, in the end, and once again they were tied for arguments won and lost. It seemed Nyx had been winning the more important ones lately. They needed to redo the rating system.

Nox would pester them about it later.

Even so, here they were, staring up at the manor which was utterly  _ reeking  _ of death. Possibly staring at their own death.

“ _ Should we knock? _ ” Nyx asked and Nox shrugged.

“ _ If we’re going to make an impression, it might as well be a rude one. _ ”

Before they could move, however, the door swung open to reveal a tall man, hair in a high ponytail, dressed in a way reminiscent of a samurai.

“Well. You two are definitely twins,” he grunted.

Nobunaga. The swordsman.

Nox and Nyx stared at him wordlessly before moving forward, pushing past him. Two firm hands landed on their shoulders, and Nox crinkled their nose. He needed a manicure.

“Aren’t you two going to say hello?”

Eyes rolled as one and the two waved a brief hello. What a stupid question. How were they going to  _ say  _ anything?

“Silent types?” Nobunaga tilted his head back and barked out a laugh. “Guess Hisoka hasn’t rubbed off on you  _ too  _ much.”

Their shoulders were released and the two ventured into an entry hall that was apparently under construction, with the one with the vacuum sucking up debris from a wall that had completely been blown out. Apparently, the spiders were rowdy. That, or they had come under attack and were either too cocky or too stupid to move the hideout. Possibly both.

The two turned back to Nobunaga, who was staring at them like they were the strangest thing he had ever seen. He probably just used his Gyo. Oh, well.

“ _ Where’s Hisoka? _ ” Nox signed, and Nobunaga looked even  _ more  _ confused.

“Chrollo didn’t say you were deaf.”

Nyx sighed, long and loud, as Nox lost their patience with the dull man and pulled out their notepad.

**We don’t have half of our tongues, jackass. Where. Is. Hisoka.**

Thrusting the notepad at him, Nox made sure to accompany it with a withering, seething glare. Nobunaga blinked and was, blissfully saved from losing his temper by Hisoka’s own appearance at the top of the staircase. 

“Nox? Nyx?”

The twins turned and lit up at the sight of him before barreling up the stairs in unison. Other troupe members started to filter in, alerted to the presence of new Nen as the two circled Hisoka, pushing up his shirt to inspect for bruising, pressing on his spine, his throat, arms, with gentle fingers.

“ _ Did they hurt you? _ ”

“ _ Are you okay? _ ”

“ _ You didn’t text. Did they not give your phone back? _ ”

“ _ We brought some of your stuff. _ ”

“ _ We did NOT bring your hair gel. _ ”

“ _ You can have hair ties. _ ”

“Nox, you know I can’t hear you when you sign under my arm like that,” Hisoka snapped and Nox pulled back, pulling a face.

“ _ Then get better eyes. _ ”

“What did you say about hair ties?”

“ _ Nyx said we didn’t bring your gel, and I said you can have hair ties. _ ”

“Did you bring my paint?”

“ _ We have two backpacks and four saddlebags, Hisoka. _ ” Nyx shot out and darted around to inspect his neck to make sure nothing was out of place.

“Would you  _ stop  _ that, Nyx?” Hisoka pulled away, but Nyx followed dodgely.

“ _ Did they drug you? _ ”

“You are signing behind my back.”

“ _ Nyx asked if they drugged you. _ ”

“Couple of times.”

At the bottom of the staircase, Machi cleared her throat, and the twins froze before sending withering glares at the spiders assembled at the base.

“ _ Why did they drug you? _ ”

“I’m obnoxious. We have a troupe of spiders staring at us. Can you two please focus?”

“ _ We’re focused on what matters, _ ” Nox replied stubbornly and Hisoka sighed.

“Nox and Nyx say hello.”

“ _ We say they’re a bunch of dicks. _ ”

“ _ Nyx, don’t be rude. They’re cunts at best. _ ”

“They say hello very warmly.”

“You didn’t tell us they were deaf,” Franklin piped up, and Hisoka sighed.

“If they were deaf,  _ why  _ would I be audibly speaking to them?”

“ _ Brain cells _ ,” Nyx signed to Franklin, not caring in the least that he had no idea what they were saying.

“ _ Find them, _ ” Nox finished and Hisoka wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, why either of them thought any of this would be a good idea, and why he hadn’t texted them then and there when Chrollo showed him the chat to tell them to put the brakes on and find better insults than a boring “dipshit”.

Nox, and he  _ knew  _ it was Nox texting, was more creative than that.

What a disappointment.

“Nox, say hello.”

Nox begrudgingly raised their hand and waved, glowering down at the audience gathered.

“Nyx.”

Nyx sighed, as if they were immensely put upon, and waved as well.

“Lovely. Greetings are out of the way. I believe Nox and Nyx brought me clothes, so I’m going to go change. Nox, Nyx, play nice with the other kids, now.”

And, just like that, Hisoka was sweeping off. Punishment, clearly, for making such brash decision in joining up with the troupe without consulting with him first. They probably deserved it.

Tense silence fell as the twins stared down the troupe, and the troupe stared down them.

“ _ Can anyone here at all sign? _ ” Nyx finally asked, and the two were met with blank silence. Nox sighed quietly to themselves, and pulled out the notepad as they started to descend the stairs.

Machi, they knew. Hisoka was convinced she could help them, but Nox doubted that immensely, unless she had a second Machi stashed somewhere. Franklin, the idiot emitter, with a weird body horror fetish, or whatever it was going on with those fingers. Phinks, the slightly less of an idiot, who had a temper from hell. Nox had no patience for other temperamental people. Shalnark, the weirdo, who was staring at Nox like Nox was ascending from the steps of heaven. Nox made a note to avoid whatever weird shit was going to come out of  _ that.  _ Kotorpi, the copier, was notably missing. Shizuku, the airhead, who was likely going to be the only one Nox could stand, was leaning on her vacuum and staring at them like she was trying to remember them. Endearing. She thought they had met before. And Nobunaga, the other weirdo old man.

Chrollo was absent. And Bono, along with Kalluto and Feitan. Nox didn’t like that. They wanted everyone where they could see. If they reached out with En, maybe, but honestly, it was such a bother.

Machi was the only one with any sense here. A disappointment, sure, but she had sense. Nox walked up to her and started scribbling.

**Where is your boss? We need to give him the stuff he asked for.**

Machi frowned at the message.

“You mean the evidence?”

Nox nodded once.

“I can take it.”

And there Nox shook their head no.

**We’ve only spoken to him. We’re passing it to him.**

“Oh, so you were  _ both  _ texting.”

**No, that was me.**

Machi raised her eyebrows, and the slightest hint of a smirk hovered at her lips.

“And who was it that set Hisoka’s phone to do that data wipe thing with a text from you?”

Nox shoved a hand over their shoulder, pointing a thumb up at Nyx, who was still at the top of the stairs, just waiting to pounce.

“How does your aura do that?” It seemed that Phinks could no longer contain himself and Nox shot him a withering glare.

**Save your excitement for the zoo.**

They were already running out of paper space. Gods, this was exhausting.

“Chrollo will be down when he’s down,” Machi finally said, and Nox regarded her with no small degree of suspicion. He’d better not be selling them out. “Then you can talk business. Would you like to wait in the library?”

**Does the library have its walls intact?**

Machi pursed her lips, but it looked like she was trying to not laugh.

“Yes. I can get you some tea.”

**Hospitable, but we’re fine.**

They had only packed the metal straws in their backpacks. The silicone ones were in their saddlebags, and in any case, they didn’t exactly have a Zoldyck’s poison resistance. Machi gestured with their head, and Nox followed her up the stairs, hating the eyes boring holes into their backs as Nobunaga and Phinks followed behind.

Everyone was on edge. That was fine. Nox and Nyx were accustomed to it. They could play nice, at least for a little while.

Hisoka was, surprisingly fine, if looking emotionally drained. They could see it all over him. Letting out a decade’s worth of secrets would do that, they supposed. It was different for them. They couldn’t slip into a mask, couldn’t go out and pretend to be someone they weren’t. Their uniqueness singled them out, and they were supposed to be dead. Hisoka had always been the one to get the information on where a target was, and they were the ones that retrieved the intel, or dealt with the person they needed to kill. Hisoka had more of a mask to wear, more of an identity crisis. He’d protected them from having to do so by doing it himself.

Sometimes they wish he hadn’t. It would make it easier to help him bear the load, if they knew exactly what it was like.

He just had never allowed it, no matter how much they pushed and prodded him to let them. It was the one thing he never compromised on them with.

As a result, they had no idea how he was feeling, or how to help him. It grated at them. Both of them, though Nyx showed it less.

Even so, he was in good enough shape that they could relent enough to share the intel. They would have to talk to him, though, before they fully decided on banding up. Nox and Nyx were set on it, but just looking at Hisoka, even for a moment, they could see how fragile he was. They needed to be careful, to not trample when they needed to tread softly.

Nox was pleasantly surprised at how large the library was. Rare books lined the walls, and they could scarcely resist the urge to go look for first edition poetry collections. Cool. They needed to be cool.

Machi set them down in a pair of plush armchairs and surveyed them critically as they immediately pulled out their tablets, apparently determined to ignore the looming presence of their guards.

“Nobunaga, Phinks, could you give us some privacy?” Machi asked and the two shared glances.

“Machi…”

“I need to talk to them.”

Nox didn’t look up. They had a new high score to beat.

Two sets of footsteps retreated from the library, and the door shut, leaving the twins alone with the seamstress.

“I assume you didn’t bring your medical charts.”

As one, the two shook their heads no.

“Alright then. You’re Gemini twins, right?”

Nox locked the screen, leaving the game, on startup, and looked up at her. Someone had done their research.

She had apparently commanded Nyx’s attention, as well. Outside the window, an owl hooted, and Machi tilted her head to survey them.

“Your control is impressive, but I’m willing to bet even with the Nen you’re using to stabilize your pelvises, you’re in constant pain.”

Nox sighed and finally relented, pulling out the notebook.

**We’re on painkillers.**

“I figured. But you’ve been on them for years, yes?”

The two nodded as Nyx pulled out their own little notebook.

**Before you ask, ** Nyx scribbled,  **yes we keep building up tolerances. Not much else to do.**

“Your doctor, Klaus, was it? I assume he found a cure, and you refused.”

**You don’t cure something that isn’t wrong** , Nox replied. Machi nodded, somehow understanding. Maybe they would like her.

“I’m not someone that likes to be told I can’t do something. Even if it’s me telling myself,” she said bluntly. “I don’t know why you two hate us. We never targeted the Gemini clan, to my knowledge. And, like Chrollo said, we aren’t looking to ever make amends. That’s stupid, and pointless, because we are what we are. We’ll just do it again. However.” Machi’s eyes swept over them. “We are very loyal to each other, and to Chrollo. We would follow him into hell. What interests him, interests me. He has offered this, and while he only said my consideration, I have decided that if something is impossible for me, that just means I need to make it possible. We previously thought no one could share Nen. That has been proven wrong twice in a week. So it’s possible. So, if it isn’t possible that there is a Nen user out there that can make an exact replica of me, with my abilities, that can move precisely as I can move, that means that it is, quite possibly possible. So I’m going to ask you two. When all of this is over. Will you allow me to try?”

Nyx and Nox looked at each other. Nox knew Nyx like they knew themselves. Even as twins, when you knew every pain the other felt, from a stubbed toe to a shattered pelvis, you knew them in a way that sometimes, you didn’t even have to bother with an argument, or a discussion, or anything, really, to reach the same earth shattering conclusion.

**When all of this is over, if we even get that far, we will take it into consideration** , Nyx scrawled out on their notebook, as Nox followed up on theirs.

**It’s better to just have one hope at a time, after all. No need to have more distractions.**

Machi read the notebooks and almost smiled, once again.

“Hm. Hisoka really did raise you two, didn’t he?”

Nox and Nyx mirrored each other’s confusion.

“Someone will give you a manifesto of their determination, and you respond with a ‘maybe’.”

Nyx shrugged as Nox grinned.

**We just officially met you. Don’t blame us for being cautious, ** Nox warned and Machi raised her brow.

“And yet you’ve both known about me for years, while I had no idea you existed, so, if anything, you two should be the familiar ones here.”

**Maybe.**

It was that moment that the door swung open and in strode Hisoka. Perfect timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this a Chrollo x Hisoka central fic, but I realized about halfway through that the story would literally be half told. I hope no one minds! Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed meeting Nox and Nyx!


	10. The Diplomacy and the Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo and the Morrows sit down and have a chat.

There was something oddly surreal about seeing Hisoka in jeans and a ratty t-shirt, with his hair thrown into a messy ponytail with too many strays. It was a bit like getting out of the elevator on the wrong floor in a hotel you've never been to, and realizing a good ten minutes later your room number starts with 3, not 4.

It had been different when Hisoka was in  _ his  _ clothes. They were borrowed, necessary for the moment, and made logical sense.

None of this made logical sense.

Chrollo was staring. Really, he should be staring at the twins and trying to figure out how on earth they had won Machi over in the thirty minutes he'd left them unsupervised. But, there she was, sitting in the middle of them, writing back and forth on the app they had pulled up on their tablets when they got sick of writing with a pen.

The last time he had seen them, he was trying to kill or capture them, and so was Machi, but they seemed to be taking all of it in stride.

They were 18, he knew, but dear gods, they seemed younger.

So did Hisoka, without a face full of makeup and with the dressed down, casual look he was sporting.

"You two could have brought my  _ actual  _ clothes," Hisoka bemoaned, and the black haired one, Nox, fired a rapid quick sentence at him Chrollo couldn't quite catch.

He had learned sign language at one point, and given the circumstances, had brushed up on it since the ritual, but he was a novice at best. This simply wasn't going to do. Their only translator was Hisoka, and while decidedly more … noble, he supposed was the word, he was still Hisoka, and honestly, was even a better liar than Chrollo previously thought. So he wasn't sure how well this was going to work.

They could write, of course, but that seemed to irritate them.

He could empathize. What was the point in having to only truly use one language if you couldn't  _ use  _ it?

He would just have to relearn sign.

"Nox. Nyx." He had been sitting here for several moments, observing the ease in which they conducted themselves, but the wariness in the way their bodies never truly relaxed. Ready at any moment to cut and run. "Would you prefer to write, or have Hisoka translate?"

Nox and Nyx finally, finally acknowledged him. They had ignored him ever since he set foot in the room, seemingly daring him to make the first move. And so he had waited until their childish game was annoying, and that was the end of that. They won. They could count whatever  _ that  _ passive aggressive display of dominance was as a victory.

Aggravating Hisoka spawn.

Nox and Nyx studied him, like they were picking him apart, determining which soft spot was best for the killing blow. Machi didn't seem to care, so he trusted her intuition on their self control.

They signed something, and Hisoka shifted in his chair so he could watch them both.

"I will be translating," Hisoka said, and that was that. More games, it seemed, though he doubted Hisoka would lie.

"Right. Have you considered my proposition?"

"We have," Hisoka intoned, a few moments after their signing started. "We will give you the information, but we need to talk to Hisoka first before we decide on teaming up with you. After all, you are … Nox, I'm not saying that."

"Saying what?" Chrollo asked.

"Never you mind, it doesn't matter. You understand the gist, yes?"

Yes, Chrollo understood the gist. He also understood, from the exasperated looks Nox was receiving from both Hisoka and Nyx, that Nox was almost certainly the one he had been texting earlier.

Nyx sighed and reached into their bag to pull out a flash drive and push it across the coffee table to Chrollo before sitting back to sign.

"This is a quarter of the information we have on operations in Meteor City," Hisoka translated. "Some video files, some photos, some reports and our tracking information, a couple of names on their inside men, pictures we've obtained of some of the kids in the last few years. We cannot give you all of it. Yet. You understand."

Yes, Chrollo understood. This was a peace offering, not a bargaining chip. It would seem that Nox was the hot headed one, and Nyx was the collected one. If he recalled correctly, though, Nox had been the one that fended him and Machi off by themselves, so perhaps they could also remain cool under pressure.

He had not been expecting these sorts of personalities from them. It would be easier to read more into them if he could  _ actually  _ talk to them.

Deal or no deal, they were likely going to be coming back around at some point or another. He'd have to relearn sign.

"Well, if that is the case." Chrollo picked up the flash drive and rolled it around between his fingers. "You're welcome to stay here until you come to an agreement. Given how far you two were, I assume you rode the full day without sleep to get here. There's a number of guest bedrooms, and food. You can rest. This won't work if we can't manage under the same roof, anyways."

"Of course it will," Hisoka replied, translating for Nox. "The internet exists, doesn't it?"

Chrollo simply ignored the reply.

"Also," Hisoka added, for himself, not them, "they can't actually eat. Do you have a blender or protein shakes?"

Nox aimed a fierce kick at Hisoka's leg, which he drew up and out of the way fluidly, not even sparing the kid a glance.

Oh. Right. No tongues would make chewing and swallowing solids difficult.

"Machi can take care of that," Chrollo replied. He wondered if enough was left of their tongues that they could taste things. It would be an awful thing to lose. Granted, if they were stuck with protein shakes, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

"Yes, we have a blender," Machi supplied. "Some of us  _ do  _ cook."

"My, Machi, you always seem to have the answer to all of my problems," Hisoka drawled. Machi just stared at him.

Chrollo was getting a headache. He wanted to study the twins, learn their ticks and tells, but he also did not want to appear too eager. It was a bad look, overall. All of this playing nice without the usual threatening and killing and maiming was grating, to put it lightly. Had Hisoka even told them how they had obtained the information? Chrollo supposed it was safest to assume he had not, and for everyone to pretend that they had obtained it through ordinary means.

He should have brought this up in the meeting. He had no idea what their temperaments were, what they would find unforgivable. He'd have to kill Ky'ia, too.

Kalluto would get over it.

He was fairly certain Kalluto would get over it. Really, it was strange to see Kalluto find interest in anything that wasn’t their goals. If he was right, Kalluto was here to get stronger, so they could drag Killua kicking and screaming back to the Zoldyck estate. And if that was the case, then they most certainly shared Illumi’s outlook on friendships outside of the family and how they were pointless, ultimately ending in the outsider’s demise.

Kalluto had probably never spent any amount of time with someone that wasn’t a killer before. Ky’ia interested them. Or perhaps it was the fact that the family had some degree of transphobia, as he had only ever heard Kalluto being referred to as a brother by Illumi, and Ky’ia was challenging that weird kind of internalized thing Kalluto had going on that demanded two contradictory things be true at once: Kalluto be nonbinary, but Kalluto also be cis. He still could not figure out how Kalluto balanced it, which was rather amusing, because compared to his confusion towards Hisoka, he was actually rather apathetic towards Kalluto’s plight, and in his year being back, had never considered caring about it.

With the presence of the twins, who Hisoka’s brain had registered as nonbinary from the start, he was beginning to wonder if he should look into it.

Hisoka’s presence and secret was doing strange things to Chrollo. He did not want to embrace it.

_ “Not my secret.” _

Should he ask? There was too much tension. The troupe and the … band of Hisoka, whatever was going on there, was already treading on thin ice. Secrets, always, revealed themselves in time, after all.

Hisoka’s did.

He still had yet to move him out of his bedroom. Hisoka smelled like his soap.

Chrollo stood abruptly and made for the door. His mind had strayed far enough.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I don’t care what you do. Just don’t pick a fight and destroy my house.”

His house, which was already wrecked, by proxy thanks to them.

Chrollo, once again, was the cause of his own problems.


	11. The Receiver and The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ky'ia has a conversation with the twins.

In the Ji’Tak clan, Ky’ia was considered kissed by the ancestors, a blessing to their people. To be more precise, Ky’ia was a lyiana, a “spirited one”. Lyianai were those that did not move with either gender, who existed outside of the bounds of expectations. They were considered to be separate because ancestors had given to them bits and pieces of their own spirit, gifts, to share with the living. Some lyiana left the mountain, to travel and give aide where they chose, but the majority chose to stay home, to continue to bless their own clan.

With a population of six hundred, there were only ever twenty five receivers at a time, and five givers. Lyianai were considered to be the best for the role, but, very often, only two or three were born to a new generation. Ky’ia was the only one from theirs, and the two generations previously had none. The Ji’Tak had fallen upon hard times in those two generations. Crops were failing, a sickness had claimed many of the elders and the young, the prey they relied on for food at the base of the mountain had been driven away by deforestation. The three lyianai who came before Ky’ia had left, seeking to establish tribal sovereignty with the local government and put an end to the deforestation so their people wouldn’t starve. They never returned, and so the Ji’Tak waited, sent more emissaries, who also never returned. The anxious silence that greeted the tribe had been deafening.

No one thought the ancestors were frowning on them. No, the outside world was changing, and it was affecting the tribe along with it. Having lived sustainably for generations, in relative peace for nearly fifty years previous, they were growing anxious.

When Ky’ia began to present as a lyiana, when things started to fall into place for them, it had been seen as a celebration, a ray of hope, that the memories they guarded were not in vain. Ky’ia hadn’t liked the pressure. The pressure to figure it out, to just know what to do, what to say, what path to walk down. No one told them they were the tribe’s salvation, and yet eyes still watched them.

They had chosen the spiritual route for answers. Not answers for the clan. Not really. Answers for Ky’ia.

They did believe the ancestors had blessed them. Their gender was not really a blessing, but no one could deny how easily Ky’ia took to receiving. It almost made the fable feel real, how easy it was for them. Their mother had likened it to how Ky’ia had made the perfect shot on their very first hunt. The memories flowed through them like water, and Ky’ia had seen a lot.

The reason for the group ritual was because no one could remember it all by themselves. The clan had stood tall for a thousand years, independent of the world around them, reliant on no one. One single person could not possess all of those memories. They were simply too vast.

So, Ky’ia had seen war. Their clan had been warriors, once upon a time. Generals, mercenaries, even. Death, to the Ji’Tak, was not finite. They lived on, through their descendants. Their stories were never forgotten, and so their souls were able to live in the afterworld, flourish, even. Death was merely a transformation from the physical to the infinite. It was a celebration.

And so they had no qualms, for a time, about killing. Ky’ia was sure they themselves knew how to do it. They had retained enough information for it to become muscle memory. Quick, swift, merciless.

Ky’ia also knew how it felt. To kill. To mourn, for a little while, as some of their ancestors did, who had not bought into the cultish ideology their clansmen had retained.

And, finally, Ky’ia knew what it felt like, to sit and watch the clock count down to your death, except you didn’t know what time it would strike.

Ky’ia knew a lot.

They also knew that even Kalluto’s strange obsession with them would not save them.

Their clan was likely searching for them now, in the aftermath of the avalanche, looking for their body so they could release their memories into the collective, to give them peace.

Ky’ia regretted that they would never find their body, that Ky’ia themselves would never be released to join their ancestors, to give back their memories of this strange and wild journey they had been thrown into. It would be wise to not tell the troupe that once they were killed, if their body was returned for the final passage, their secret would be known to 600 people.

Ky’ia knew they could lie. Sifting through Hisoka’s memories, and with the memories they retained from their own clan’s history, they knew that the best lie was one with a strong foundation of truth. It would be so easy to tell the troupe that should they die, their memories of this event would immediately flee to the collective, and then the secret they wanted to keep would be known to 600 people, and they couldn’t track them  _ all  _ down and kill them. They would, after all, have a two day head start.

But to lie about what was sacred felt wrong. The ancestors would most assuredly frown, and in any case, that would only prompt the troupe to kill as many as they could. Ky’ia wasn’t stupid. They couldn’t bring that level of devastation onto their people. In the days that they had been here, they had learned a lot, and knew that their captors had committed genocide a number of times. In all likelihood, they rarely waited for a reason to do it. They did it because they could.

Ky’ia had never before wondered what it was like to fear for their life. They had felt it, a number of times. It was why they didn’t fully ascribe to the Ji’Tak beliefs on death, and why they felt like such a disappointment as a result.

As the first lyiana in decades, Ky’ia was meant to have unwavering faith. Nothing was ever meant to make them question. They were supposed to absorb, and move on, blazing the trail that the Ji’Tak had always followed, even if it was a trail towards a cliff.

Ky’ia just couldn’t do it. They agreed with almost all of the teachings, except the ones on death. After all, if death was meant to be a blessing, after a long life lived, a next level, a step up to the next goal, then why could it also function as a punishment? They had seen glimpses of it, in their ancestors’ memories, glimpses of horrible men put down to atone for their sins. And now with their knowledge of Hisoka’s task, it became even more clear: it could be a punishment. A definite end, with no chance at redemption.

They were also beginning to understand that in the outside world, men could run from their sins for as long as it took, provided they had the connections and power and money to do so. That’s why Hisoka wished to put them down. The ringleaders, that was. So they couldn’t escape justice any longer.

There was no faith in Hisoka for the justice the people in power bestowed.

For the Ji’Tak, punishment for a heinous crime meant isolation. Very rarely did they have a murderer, or abuser in their midst. Even more rarely did they have a rapist, and Ky’ia had not even heard of a pedophile until Hisoka and the twins. When they did have such horrible crimes happen, the punishment was swift. Criminals were locked away, refused any worthwhile memory to impart onto their fellows. If it was a murder made in passion, or could be seen as self defense, if you squinted, they were eventually released and granted their rites and rights. If it was not, then they were permitted to die over the course of several years, and the last rites were never performed, dooming their souls to wander and never come home for all eternity. Once a year, offenders were granted a hearing, where their memories were investigated by inquisitors, who specialized in painless extraction, who  _ honestly  _ the troupe should have stolen instead, to find instances of genuine repentance for their sins.

Ky’ia knew of only one offender in their lifetime, and he died early in Ky’ia’s childhood.

Crimes simply did not happen in the Ji’Tak, so Ky’ia could not grasp the concept of crime on this scale. At one time, they had considered leaving the Ji’Tak, and traveling to the Hunter Association to ask for help, but now they weren’t so sure. The outside world truly was a dark place.

They had met one good person so far, and even he had been fashioned into a murderer, been forced to don a mask to convince the world that he was as ugly as it was. It would seem that one simply could not exist here without becoming ugly and twisted and vile.

Ky’ia was not certain there was help to be had from anyone in this strange land.

The doctor from the memories had seemed kind, if brash, so perhaps Ky’ia was wrong.

They possessed no memories of the outside world from the present except the very few they had taken from Hisoka.

It still felt wrong, to have taken them.

They had not even been in the outside world for a week, and already they were taking things by force.

They wished they could go home. Their actions would be utterly justified to the clan, when their memories were inevitably revealed in training. In fact, they would be seen as everything the clan had expected them to be: a protector.

A protector.

Ky’ia didn’t just want to protect the tribe anymore.

They also just wanted to talk to their mother.

The receiver was finally, finally interrupted from their musings by rapping on the wooden table in the kitchen. Kalluto was gone, off on some mission or another. Ky’ia was decently certain they were robbing a bank and the safety deposit boxes within. Messy, and a little beneath Kalluto, but Chrollo hadn’t wanted them underfoot, given their recent outburst.

Before them stood the twins, and Ky’ia studied them critically. In the flesh, they looked different. They had seen them before, of course, in Hisoka’s memories, but they hadn’t realized how dainty and elfish they looked in person. Heavy brows were the only thing about their faces that weren’t sharp and clean cut. Short, perhaps 5’1, with slightly curly hair pulled up into horrendously disastrous buns, probably messy from the ride. They were dressed in black cropped hoodies and high waisted black skinny jeans, filthy combat boots on their feet. Ky’ia wasn’t certain if this was a normal style, or if only the most angsty, dramatic people in the outside world wore all black. There was a glint of chain at their collars, and Ky’ia realized they still wore the necklaces they had seen before.

“You’re Nox and Nyx.”

Nox, they were certain it was Nox, pulled out their notepad and scrawled a message.

**You must be a new member. Where’s the blender?**

“Oh, I’m not one of … Never mind, I’m Ky’ia. I don’t know where the blender is.”

In unison, and yes, Ky’ia had been right, they definitely did everything in unison, the twins’ brows furrowed.

**If you aren’t a member why are you here? ** This time it was Nyx holding out the notepad.

“Oh, I was kidnapped for a pet project of the leader’s.” They clearly didn’t know who Ky’ia was, or why they were here, and Ky’ia was in no hurry to rush their own death along. If Hisoka or Chrollo hadn’t told them, that likely meant Chrollo would most certainly kill Ky’ia for doing so.

**Do you want us to bust you out? ** Nox was the brash one, then. Made sense.

“I’m going to die. I’m not in a rush to make it faster.”

**Looks like you have more sense than Nox does.**

Nox signed something at Nyx, and Ky’ia could pick up, just barely, “I”, “not”, or perhaps it was “no”, and “stupid”. That was self explanatory. The grammar was strange. Directly translated, it looked like Nox was saying “me/I stupid not”. Ky’ia liked strange grammar. It felt familiar. Knowing common tongue and their own ancestral tongue, they liked other languages that held grammatical structures that would be considered “uncivilized” by the assholes who had just decided that they were the experts, but apparently built a society that allowed a literal continent wide pedophile ring to run unchecked for decades. Sure. The outlying tribes that wanted nothing to do with them were the uncivilized ones.

“Do you want me to help you find the blender?”

**No, it’ll just take us a few seconds.**

Nox and Nyx closed their eyes for a moment and reached out their hands, as if feeling for something. Nyx made an odd choking sound first, reminiscent of someone of someone clicking their tongue in an “I got it” way, and scurried to one of the cabinets to withdraw the blender.

“How did you do that?” Ky’ia blurted.

There was one bonus to being outside for once. Spirit users that weren’t exclusively givers, receivers, and inquisitors only existed in memories now, as the Ji’Tak had given up war a long time ago, and therefore had no need for spirit outside of the given parameters. Everyone was content with that. People  _ could  _ learn, if they wanted, it was just that no one felt the need. Even so, Ky’ia was young, and liked new things still.  _ And  _ the twins were only a year older than them, and yet had all of this amazing power and experience. Ky’ia had a bit of a spirit crush, if they were going to be honest.

The twins observed them critically, as if they were trying to get a read on them. Ky’ia realized, belatedly, that the two could potentially see them as a threat, or lying about not being in the troupe.

**It’s a recon thing we do** , Nyx finally replied.  **Helps with our missions.**

Nox was too busy scrubbing out the blender to write, so Ky’ia settled with Nyx.

“We call Nen spirit where I’m from,” Ky’ia explained. “To us, spirit is strengthened by the wills of our ancestors. The stronger you are, the more blessing you have from them. It’s kind of cool to see people strengthen it through resolve, too. We still train and everything, of course. You can have gifts, but they’re a bit pointless if you don’t do anything with them, and kind of offensive to the giver.”

**That’s kind of neat. Nen is a little spiritual to us, too, just different from your look on it.**

Ky’ia knew enough to know that the outside world would mock their faith. Kalluto hadn’t, when they asked about it, but Kalluto was very clearly an atheist, and Ky’ia had known they looked at it as if it were silly, though they hadn’t said it to Ky’ia’s face. Franklin, however, had overheard it, and mocked Ky’ia mercilessly until Kalluto got mad at him. If Ky’ia wanted to be “silly”, Ky’ia was going to be silly.

Being defended by a 12 year old had not felt great.

It was nice to meet someone who didn’t mock.

“What’s your outlook?”

Nyx sat at the table across from Ky’ia, evidently deciding Ky’ia would be decent enough conversation, even if they were a spy, and tapped the pen on the wood thoughtfully for a moment before they began to write.

**Our people once believed power resided in ourselves to change the world around them. Power is inherent to the living. At one point, we called it magic, and then it became Nen. Manifestation of your own will and desire. Some of us called on our ancestors and gods, but in our clan there were two faiths, meant to walk side by side. The faith in self, and faith in gods, and the departed. Everything was about duality existing side by side. Nox and I picked self.**

Ky’ia read it with a tilt of the head, their brain whirring to process this information.

“So the concept is two things can be true at once, and neither has to overpower the other.”

Nyx nodded and wrote one word on their paper.

**Balance.**

“And sharing power.”

Again, Nyx nodded, and Ky’ia hummed. It was a pity they were going to die, right after they had just started to learn. Disappointing, really, that their memories and all of this new information would never reach their clan.

“So we both come from places that put sharing above everything.”

Ky’ia had taken by force. They had desecrated their gifts.

Perhaps it was only right that they perish.

**What kind of sharing do you do?**

Ah. Right. Ky’ia had to lie. They had no idea how to lie.

“I … Well. I can’t tell you.”

**Why not?**

Suspicion was flickering across Nyx’s eyes and Ky’ia realized they had no experience, whatsoever, next to these two. The only thing that had saved them from utterly losing it when they were first dragged into this manor was generations of wisdom, the same wisdom that had gotten them into this mess. They had kept their cool, kept their calm, and went through the steps of the memories of past receivers that had been taken against their will and lived. It was all they had.

Ky’ia, really, could only function under life threatening pressure, and they did not feel threatened enough.

Besides, Nox and Nyx had practically been raised by what was quite possibly the best liar on this planet.

“Part of that answer relates to Chrollo’s pet project, and I have not been given permission to share outside of the troupe.”

A truth. A truth that should satiate them both, because Nox was now regarding them with just as much suspicion.

The twins glanced at each other, an unspoken conversation, and then Nyx focused back on Ky’ia.

**Acceptable.**

Short one word answers. Ky’ia had been raised in the blistering cold, had trudged even higher, to the temple at the summit, where only the trained could breathe, the most blessed could survive, at the age of ten. They knew the cold, the ice, and yet, when met with Nyx’s withering stare and stony face, they felt like they needed to relearn.

Nox went back to the blender, throwing it into gear to process what was some kind of shake. Ky’ia had never seen a blender before. They had never seen a lot of things before, and the constant barrage was a bit of a shock.

They weren’t entirely sure why they had offered to help look. Instincts, they supposed. The tribe got supplies from the base of the mountain. Medicines, food, occasional books Ky’ia had devoured relentlessly.

They still had never seen a phone up until this point. They were a fish out of water.

As the blender pulsed, Ky’ia realized it was like a motorized mortar and pestle, except it worked on a lot more things. That was nifty.

“I will, uh, admit my clan is a bit removed from the rest of the world. I don’t know a lot. About anything, actually.”

Nox and Nyx studied them before Nyx wrote a message.

**What are you getting at?**

“Uh. What was that white powder you just put in the blender?”

Nyx stared at Ky’ia for a long moment before starting to make a guttural choking sound.

Laughing. They were laughing.

**That was protein powder. For nutrition.**

Ah. Protein. Ky’ia had read about that in a medical textbook. They had also read about drugs in that same medical textbook, so they had to make sure. Sue them.

Yes, they also knew about lawsuits.

“Oh. Sorry. I know what drugs are.”

That was not helping their case. Nyx just laughed louder, and Nox joined in, and a smile, the first smile in days, almost, almost parted Ky’ia’s lips.

**Doll, we don’t have time for drugs.**

“I read that they were great stress relievers.” Doll. Ky’ia liked being called doll. At least by Nyx. Nox, they had no idea.

**They are also wonderful distractions. If you’re going to be out here for long, don’t try some. Except maybe weed. Weed isn’t so bad.**

“We have weed. Or a variant. I know what it’s like.” They weren’t  _ all  _ monks, sheesh.

**Well that’s good. I hate to be a corrupting influence** , Nox wrote, finally actually getting into the conversation.

**You are way too young to be smoking** , Nyx scrawled out, and then glared at Nox as they caught sight of their paper.

“... I am eighteen in two weeks. Aren’t you two eighteen?”

**Yes, and we are too young and BUSY** , and BUSY was underlined, three times, possibly for Nox’s benefit,  **to be smoking weed.**

Ky’ia realized, belatedly, that they were also going to be dying before they turned eighteen, and wasn’t that a little sad?

If they thought critically about it, which they didn’t want to do, they would realize that the only reason they were so calm about it was because of generations of deaths they had already seen, witnessed, experienced. Subconsciously, they had already selected the option of calm, accepting it as it came, viewing it as a soft creek carrying them down to the sea. Others saw it as a raging torrent, rapids bashing them against rocks, and it honestly just made the inevitable uncomfortable. There was no sense in making the inevitable uncomfortable.

“When do you turn nineteen?”

Nox and Nyx crinkled their noses vaguely at that.

**We don’t know. We just celebrate on the day we were found by Hisoka.**

Ky’ia frowned at that.

“Do you have any clues?”

**Not really, no, aside from the eclipse. It doesn’t bother us, really.**

“Eclipse?”

Nox, now, nodded, and scribbled on a paper.

**We don’t remember the date of our birthday, but we do know we were born on an eclipse. It was a big event, I think.**

“Nineteen years ago? Then October 12th.”

Nox and Nyx stared at Ky’ia blankly, and color rose to their cheeks.

“Uh, date keeping is important in our tribe. Especially natural events. It was my job when I was there to memorize these things. It’s a religious thing. There was a lunar eclipse nineteen years ago, on a special holiday for us, which is why I remember it.”

It was also the night, everyone loved to remind Ky’ia, that they were conceived. Ky’ia would rather not be reminded of that, and the twins probably did not need to know that.

Nox and Nyx almost looked upset at this new knowledge.

“Should I not have told you that?”

**No, it’s fine** , Nyx wrote quickly.

**We don’t need two birthdays** , Nox stated, just as quickly, and Ky’ia winced.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to celebrate it. Though, there isn’t anything wrong with two birthdays, I don’t think. There should be a reason to celebrate every new birth, right?”

Nox and Nyx just stared at them. Ky’ia could feel their foot in their intestines at this point.

Just then the door opened to reveal Hisoka, and Ky’ia looked away instinctively, ashamed. Hisoka’s own eyes fell on Ky’ia and nothing was said, so nothing could be acknowledged.

“Grab your shakes, darlings. We need to talk.”

And, just like that, Nox and Nyx were gone, shakes in hand, and Ky’ia was left alone in a strange land again, without a friend in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ky'ia is pronounced Kai-ee-yah. Lyiana is pronounced lie-ee-ehneh and Ji'Tak is pronounced Gee-Tuhk
> 
> This fic is slowly growing into a bit of a beast, so if anyone wants to beta, please reach out to my on my twitter, which is the same username as here!
> 
> I really wanted to expand on other understandings of Nen from other cultures on the continent, so from here on out I MAY be breaking some canon rules. Sorry!


	12. The Twins and the Jester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and the twins come to an important decision.

They were all sat on the bed. The empty glasses had been set aside, and Nox and Nyx were simply staring at Hisoka, evaluating, watching, waiting.

Hisoka was quiet. He was an excellent liar. Too good, in fact. It had taken a long time for him to learn how to turn off the defense mechanism with his twins and just exist in place with them. No lies, no tears, no pain. Just a simple understanding.

It was hard to resist the urge to lie, to tell them he was just fine, that this was the right choice. Because, really, Chrollo had been right. Hisoka didn’t know who he was, and he couldn’t get caught up on that right now, either. It wasn’t the time. Identity crises could be saved for after they were done. He might even get a therapist. Who knew?

“We should talk logically first,” he finally said.

“ _ You really want that one first? _ ” Nox signed, looking a tad concerned. They could see the break incoming.

“Yes. Logic first. Feelings second. That’s the rule.”

All three of them were in a position where feelings could destroy everything they worked for in a moment. One wrong person killed in a fit of temper could spell their destruction. The rule was always logic first, feelings second. No matter how much it killed them. They had to abide by that code, or all three of them could wind up dead, and the ring more firmly entrenched than ever.

“ _ If you say so _ ,” Nox said, and from the look on their face, Hisoka knew he was being laid bare. He’d been laid bare for days now. It scarcely mattered.

“Logistically, we are at a completion rate of six months. With the assistance of the troupe, more resources at our disposable, we can possibly cut it to four, if not in half. However, now that they have knowledge of the workings of Meteor City, left unattended and with no reason to wait other than mutual cooperation and our further intelligence, they could just decide to deal with their own problems, and a strike of that level would send the ring back into hiding.”

The ring had existed for three decades on one thing: organization. Anytime they were tipped off to someone busting them wide open, they scattered like cockroaches. Evidence was thoroughly destroyed, bodies never found, whole operations left bare, and then the money started flowing for the cover up. It worked, every time, without fail. The investigators, every last one, always ended up disappearing or dying in ordinary accidents that shouldn’t have happened. Drunk drivers, a gas leak, insurance snafus that resulted in them missing doses of life saving maintenance medications, anything you could think of: it happened.

If there was another scatter, any chance at all of them winning would be blown.

There was just too much at stake.

“They are motivated,” Hisoka continued, “and will remain motivated. As you mentioned, Nox,” and here he gave Nox a withering glare, “Chrollo is the carrot type. He is the carrot type because when he swings the stick, the kind of devastation he can do can level cities. He’s offering the carrot right now, and I am not willing to pass that up.”

Emotionally speaking, he was very, very willing to pass that up.

“In addition, he now sees that you two can be a threat.” Hisoka hated to say it. It felt like sand on his tongue, that he had given them the power to get killed. What he wouldn’t give to go back and make them inconsequential. “Should we not be allied with him, he could very well decide that you are a big enough threat that you need to be dispatched. And we do not need the troupe on our tail while we are trying to finish this up. I want our energy completely directed at our goal.”

Hisoka had a number of enemies out to kill him. None of those enemies knew of his surrogate siblings. He had never had to consider, had to think, until now, about the kind of fear that would overtake him should one know.

Chrollo was still an enemy, in his eyes. An enemy with a carrot. He’d rather keep him close.

“So, logistically speaking, joining forces with the troupe is our best option.”

The twins were still silent. It was worrying him. And they were still staring at him, the way they always stared at him when he needed a hot bath and a facemask.

Finally, Nyx’s hands started moving.

“ _ How did they find out? _ ”

And here came the temper train.

“The kid you were talking to in the kitchen, Ky’ia? They are from the Ji’Tak tribe, something called a receiver. They can go through people’s memories.”

“ _ So they literally mind fucked you. _ ” Nox supplied, and Hisoka didn’t care enough to hide the wince.

“Yes, Nox, they mind fucked me.”

“ _ Hisoka. _ ” Nyx looked deadly serious. “ _ We can forgive for ourselves. We do not have to forgive for you. _ ”

Hisoka sighed and thought back to his conversation with Machi, on the tailend of him sobering up.

“There are a lot of irrational people in this world, darlings. I would have thought I raised you better than to be like them,” he drawled. “Lest you forget, up until that moment, to them I was a murderous rapist who got off on being beaten up by literal children. Irregardless of intentions, I still do, in fact, bear responsibility for my choices and the image I have chosen to portray. If anything, how they have treated me so far is a compliment to how good I am at being who I am. I have been a creep. Without the knowledge of why I am what I am, I have made a lot of people uncomfortable. I have killed uninvolved people in that had nothing to do with it in the name of holding that image. I’ve done what I have done, and we cannot hold other people responsible for the consequences of that.”

He had endangered them, after all, and had no one to hold responsible for such except him.

It wasn’t that he regretted letting them chase their revenge. They were going to do it anyways. They deserved it, just as much as he did. They had deserved a choice.

It was the fact that being who he was, he had given them more enemies than they had ever signed up for, and they didn’t even realize it yet. And he hated himself, especially because he knew they would just shrug and say they knew what they were getting into. They would always forgive him, as was evidenced by their immediate dismissal of his intentions towards Machi. And he hated himself for it, because he had done nothing to deserve it.

They had only punished him for the fact that he put himself in needless danger to do it.

Chrollo could have killed him, multiple times, in the name of his pursuit of their happiness and safety, and he knew it. They knew it. And without saying it, because they were treating him with kid gloves, they were furious with him for it.

“ _ This is all fine, Hisoka _ ,” and here Nox was cutting in, “ _ but are you even capable of holding it together while working with them? _ ”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Hisoka was lying through his teeth.

“ _ What I mean is, as you know _ ,” and know was signed quite viciously, “ _ are you capable of holding it together and not having a literal identity crisis because a group of murderous thugs have to become your safe zone and be accepted into your truth? _ ”

“Oh, don’t be so cruel. Machi isn’t so bad, and Shizuku is quite a darling.”

“ _ A decade of your secondary personality is literally falling to pieces, against your will, Hisoka. _ ” Now here was Nyx to harp on him. “ _ You are not holding it together. Your body language is shifting every five seconds like you’re trying to decide who to be. This is the first time we’ve seen you relaxed, and you’ve literally barricaded us in Chrollo’s bedroom. _ ”

“ _ Actually why are we even in Chrollo’s bedroom? _ ”

“He hasn’t moved me out. He’s sleeping in a guest room.”

He really, really hoped they weren’t about to force him to read into that.

“ _ And you aren’t even making an innuendo about it. _ ”

And there came in Nyx for the bat to the face, making him read into it.

“Don’t make me read into it.”

“ _ If we are going to be teaming up with them for the next three or four months, you will actually have to read into it. _ ”

“I will absolutely not have to.”

“ _ Nyx, don’t be rude. He told us to keep his hands off his love life. _ ”

“My  _ what _ ?”

“ _ His love life may affect the outcome of this entire operation if he loses it. _ ”

“Okay, that is  _ enough _ !” Hisoka’s voice went up, just borderline of a shout, and he took a deep breath while they stared at him, entirely unphased. “I will hold it together. I have held it together for ten years, and a couple of months are not going to kill me. And you two, will never, ever bring this up again. Am I quite clear?”

“ _ If that makes you comfortable. _ ” Still unfazed, and as assholish as ever, that Nox. Hisoka almost regretted teaching them to be fearless.

“Wonderful.” The word slipped out of his teeth like the hiss of a snake. “Are we in agreement?”

Nox and Nyx exchanged a glance, coming to some silent conclusion, before turning back to Hisoka. He didn’t like the looks on their faces.

“ _ We are in agreement on one condition _ ,” Nyx signed.

“ _ If you start having a break, we reserve the right to pull you out and continue operations with them by ourselves until you recover. _ ”

Hisoka wasn’t sure when the dynamic between he and them had shifted, to where they were watching him, protecting him, monitoring him.

They really had grown, and he didn’t know if he should be proud, frustrated, or heartbroken.

Dimly, he heard himself repeat those exact same words to them, on the porch of their bungalow in the woods, as they stood on wobbly legs and looked at him with all the defiance in the world.

Promises. He hadn’t realized, when they agreed, all those years ago, that they were making a promise.

“Fine. Fine, you two win. You can be the nurses this time.”

The tension broke. Hisoka was an emotional person. He couldn’t really help it. So when he saw the twins staring at him with such worry, such  _ love _ , he found himself holding out his arms. He knew exactly what they needed, what they always needed, when they were worried about him. They needed to feel that he was real, he was safe, he got home just fine, in one piece.

And they flung themselves at him, tackling him into the bed. He could feel Nox’s tears, and he realized this time, they had really, honestly believed that he was dead. He had scared them.

“I told you,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. Not till I’m done.”

His hands moved to smooth down their messy curls, and Nox shook slightly. They always cried for the three of them, that little emotional wreck.

“Though I may be going to rob a pharmacy if I found out you two left your meds at home again,” he added as an afterthought. Nyx snorted into his shoulder and Hisoka just laid with them for a minute.

His handler had never done this for him. Granted, he had found Hisoka at 16, not 12, and at that point Hisoka was too hard to fall apart. Hisoka hadn’t wanted that for the twins, so he let them hug him when they wanted, feel that he was real, that this all wasn’t a dream.

In a way, he had come to understand that in many ways, they surpassed him because he  _ had  _ given them that affection, that taste of what they could gain after it was all said and done.

Being himself, he hadn’t realized yet that they were content with what they had gained in the meantime, and considered it just as important as what was to come.

Silence passed for a moment before he realized they had not actually replied.

“... Who forgot their meds, and which ones did you forget?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter the people here for Chrollo x Hisoka are going to get FED


	13. The Jeep and the Brakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Chrollo go out for a joyride to rob a local pharmacy of all of its controlled substances.
> 
> The author does not condone pharmacy robbery.

Hisoka had honestly thought it would be Nox. But, no. Nyx had been so preoccupied with making sure Nox wasn't forgetting anything, they had forgotten the oxycodone.

The non transferable oxycodone.

The oxycodone they had both neglected to refill before they left, despite having Klaus's actual cell phone number on speed dial, not that anyone used speed dial, which Nox only had three days worth left of, one now that they had to share with Nyx.

At least the new sleeping meds were working.

But Klaus couldn't send a prescription for a controlled substance this far, so now it was on Hisoka to go actually rob a pharmacy, which he had initially half been joking about, and deal with the fallout if Klaus ever found out.

Grumbling to himself as he left the twins sleeping in their new guest bedroom, Hisoka trudged down the hall, the keys to Nyx's bike in hand as he wondered why, why he had ever thought them responsible enough to take down a literal sex trafficking ring when they could not even keep track of their medications. Honestly, they were going to be the death of him.

"Where are you going?"

It had been several hours since Hisoka heard that unwanted voice and he stopped and sighed. Crickets were chirping all around him. It smelled like rain. Honestly, this might have been a peaceful night, despite his irritation.

"I'm going to go rob a pharmacy," Hisoka stated flatly and refused to look over his shoulder at Chrollo standing in the shadow of the doorway.

"You're going to rob a pharmacy," Chrollo repeated.

"Yes. That is, in fact, what I just said." Hisoka would rather be in bed. A bed that wasn't Chrollo's.

"Do you even know where the next town is?"

"I have a phone. Which has gps, like every other phone on the planet. Are you going to stop me from robbing a pharmacy?"

"Why are you robbing a pharmacy?"

Hisoka could not find it in him to dance right now. He was emotionally drained. His shirt was still wet from Nox. The twins had come to rescue him and yet he was still having to sweep in and play big brother.

Secretly, he was a little pleased they had forgotten.

For one, it was an excuse to get away from everyone and finally find some time to breathe.

For two, it made him feel a little less helpless to fix something for them.

For three, it gave him a chance to actually let loose some of this pent up frustration.

"Nox and Nyx neglected to refill a medication that cannot be transferred, and their doctor cannot write a prescription for it from where he's licensed."

"So it's a controlled substance. Painkillers?"

"I fail to see how that matters."

"... Hisoka, you realize you are about to rob a pharmacy, and yet you are doing it by yourself despite being in a manor that is full of professional thieves."

"I am capable of robbing a pharmacy by myself."

"I'm sure."

Silence passed for a few minutes and Hisoka finally, finally turned to face Chrollo.

"I am not trying to run away and leave them with all of you."

"I didn't say you were."

"Then why are you standing there interrogating me when you know I'll be back, hm?"

There was no emotion in Chrollo's eyes, nothing to be read. Hisoka didn't know what he was thinking, and while that had previously been fun and a thrill, it was now simply aggravating.

"Come," Chrollo finally said, shortly, and started to walk to the garage.

"Pardon?"

"If you really aren't taking off, then me coming with shouldn't be a problem, yes?"

Hisoka froze, and then recalled his conversation with the twins.

Carrot. Stick.

"You are Chrollo Lucilfer, and you want to rob a pharmacy?"

"It's good to stretch your legs."

Hisoka sighed and abandoned his hopes of getting some actual space for once before trailing along behind Chrollo to get into the awaiting Jeep.

"I didn't take you for the sort to dole out petty punishment, Chrollo," he finally said, slipping back into the mindset of a tease.

Chrollo glanced over at Hisoka, silent, as usual, while the Jeep rumbled to life.

Explaining a joke ruined the joke. Adding the punchline didn't, though.

"I didn't realize my incessant hovering irritated you so. I would have amped it up."

Chrollo focused back on the windshield and world beyond it as the garage doors opened.

"You accuse me of being egotistical, and yet you think you were skilled enough to get a rise out of me at all."

"Then why are you here?"

"It amuses me."

"I don't believe you've ever once smiled in your life. You should find a better word than amuse. I'm sure your books have one somewhere."

Chrollo ignored him and pulled out, his right hand resting easily on the clutch. Of course Chrollo could drive a manual. Hisoka filed it away as another irritating facet of the enigma that sat next to him.

With a dramatic sigh, Hisoka looked out the window, trying to pretend like he was hiding his pout.

"What did you three decide?"

Ah, there it was. For once, Chrollo was impatient.

"Chrollo, you didn't need to get me alone in a dark car in the middle of the night to ask me _ that _."

Chrollo didn't reply, yet again. He was getting better at keeping Hisoka from dominating the conversation it seemed. Good for him.

"We decided we will. After all, if you were left to your own devices, they would scatter again, and we'd have to start from scratch. It'd be a pain."

"Scatter?"

"Yes. Scatter. They have been around for roughly three decades. Can you name any sex ring that has managed the same?"

"... No. They generally only last a few years."

"Mmm. Yes, that's correct. This one is so long lived because in order to take it out, a simultaneous strike is needed, and the head, which we still haven't found who, needs to be cut off. Whenever anyone got close before, they'd scatter. Efficiently. Evidence was destroyed, bodies never found, records scrubbed, and then when it was a clean slate, the money would pour in from everywhere from the cover up. That's why it's taken me a decade. They've done it twice, before I had enough information to track in the aftermath."

Chrollo was silent, processing, as they rumbled down the dirt road.

"If we left you to your own devices, I'm sure you'd take the ‘me and mine’ route and just purge them from Meteor City."

"No," Chrollo finally said shortly. Hisoka lifted a brow.

"No?"

"Purging them would only make half the point. We need to make an example. You can't do that without the full equation."

Hisoka had not been expecting that. He wasn't sure what to say.

"What example are you wanting to make?"

"A bloody one."

As always, Chrollo was to the point and deliberately vague. Hisoka decided not to push. Why didn't matter. Just how.

"Edwin is the finance man," Hisoka finally said. "He couldn't properly wipe the hard drive, so we got a little information from his automated backup. It wasn't much, from what the twins told me, but it was enough to get a trail to more information to where the money goes. It's a very elaborate laundering operation."

"If they work with Shalnark, they should be able to track it down."

"It can only go so far. Electronic trails disappear. We'll need to have actual physical recon."

"The troupe can handle that."

"So can I."

"No," Chrollo said sharply and once again, Hisoka found himself surprised at the emotion that just barely, barely leaked into his voice.

"No?"

"You have us. You don't need to go in again."

"Do you have an inside man?"

"I can have any inside man. I have Shalnark."

"His antenna are a little visible, if you didn't notice."

"You don't need to go in again."

"Why not?"

"I said so."

"This is a team operation. I'm not one of your spiders."

Chrollo slammed on the brakes, pitching Hisoka forward towards the windshield, and a hand caught his t-shirt and yanked him back before he made an impact.

"I made conditions with the twins. My conditions with you are that you don't go in again."

Silence fell on the Jeep as Hisoka stared at Chrollo, the man's hand still fisted in his shirt. He was warm.

The crickets were still chirping.

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Agree, and we stay. Don't, or I handle this my way. Without you or the twins. Choose."

".... Fine."

Chrollo released the back of Hisoka's shirt, letting him fall back into the seat, and put the Jeep back into gear.

"Put your seatbelt on."

Hisoka very often did not understand people. Maybe it was the trauma, maybe it was just the way he was wired, but on a surface level he simply did not understand them. Sure, he could make quick conclusions as to _ why _they were the way they were, he could understand their goals, their aspirations, and how to use those against them. But he didn’t understand them in a way that required empathy. The only people he really, really, truly understood were the twins, and that’s because one, he had cared enough to want to try and two, he had the same story as them, with different players.

That’s why he had so much resolve to see this through.

He had the same story as every kid out there in the same situation as him.

His lack of empathy towards those without his story made his disguise more real. He had taken that apathy and built on it, crafted it, used it as a weapon to forge his monstrous face.

So Chrollo’s behavior was a mystery to him. Hisoka wasn’t sure why he wasn’t using a perfectly good tool at his disposal, or why he wouldn’t give an answer as to why that tool was benched. Because, when it was all said and done, Hisoka was a tool. Past the identity crisis, past the grudge, past his drive, he was a handler’s wet dream. The man that could retain his cover the second he stepped foot outside of his house, and hold it for ten years with only marginal breaks, could operate without direction, get the job done without any support at all. Hisoka didn’t need resources, or money thrown at him, or other people beyond maybe two, and even those two had been a blessing. He could have finished on his own.

Hisoka was a tool.

He knew Chrollo knew that.

Perhaps it was a pride thing, though Hisoka was unsure Chrollo knew what that was beyond the protection and control of Meteor City. Perhaps Chrollo didn’t want Hisoka to show his spiders up.

Hisoka could be flattered, but he needed a definite answer, and he wasn’t going to get it out of Chrollo.

“So if you’re not going to use me as I am actually meant to be used, how are you going to employ my skills? Or do you just want to oust me of my own operation and steal my victory as punishment for my betrayal?”

“It’s not a betrayal if you were never loyal to us to begin with,” Chrollo replied shortly. “And you will be directing.”

“Directing?”

“I’m not so small that I can’t admit when someone is better at something than me, Hisoka. I am an excellent thief. I can get information pertaining to what I need to steal, when I need to steal it. I can connect the threads on something like this, but you would do it better, and faster. So you will direct.”

Hisoka’s lips twitched, but it was a false smile. Inside, he was a churning wreck.

“My, Chrollo, was that a compliment? For _ me _?”

“Don’t expect it again.”

Chrollo was still expressionless. It felt like Illumi again. Hisoka had always liked the expressionless ones. He liked to senselessly tail them to get a rise out of them. He liked Illumi, too. At one point, he had almost considered letting Illumi know his secret, but ultimately decided that it was too much of a risk. Had Illumi ever decided Hisoka was no longer needed, he had no way of knowing if that regard would extend to the twins.

So, he had kept his secret from the closest thing outside of his cobbled together family that he could consider a friend. It was almost ironic that Chrollo had learned first. He had been in a race with Illumi and hadn’t even known.

They were reaching paved road now.

“So how far is this town?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“Mmm.”

Hisoka wondered if the twins had told Klaus to water the plants. Probably not. Had they texted him, he would have reminded them to refill their meds. Pulling out his phone, he shot Klaus a quick text. He didn’t need to know the specifics.

“The doctor. Brentson. What is his relationship to you?”

Hisoka blinked, almost in surprise.

“I kidnapped him when I found the twins, and we somehow managed to become friends.”

“So you two are friends?”

“Of sorts. He keeps their medical records under lock and key, and I don’t let anything untoward happen to him.”

“Untoward?”

“He’s the top scientist in a field that is simply begging to have money thrown at it for more insidious things. In the time I have known him, there have been about seventeen kidnapping attempts. I stop those, or rescue him, and he continues to function as primary care for the twins.”

“So you aren’t romantically involved.”

“With Klaus?” Hisoka laughed. The question had actually surprised him. “Absolutely not. I’m too dangerous for him, he’s too kind for me. I would only feel guilty, all the time.”

“So being interested in men wasn’t an act.”

Hisoka wasn’t sure why these questions were being asked of him.

“It’s like I told Machi. You take truths, and exaggerate them to lay the foundation for a lie. So. No. It’s not an act. Why, are _ you _interested in men?”

“Occasionally.”

“I thought so. No straight man would put himself in leather skinny jeans to make an impression.”

“Plenty of straight men would.”

“Maybe if they paired it with a guitar.”

Chrollo was silent again. Hisoka wondered if he had irritated him.

“Well. It’s good to know that my flirting wasn’t _ utterly _hopeless, like it was with Machi.”

“It was.”

“Oh, you break my heart.”

“I know enough to know you would only be serious if you dropped the act. I don’t chase things that are beyond my reach.”

Hisoka was unsure of how to take that. Did Chrollo have … sexual interest in him?

“I’ve slept with plenty of people who have been prey to my act.”

Chrollo was silent again, and Hisoka had the vague impression that he was walking on eggshells.

“When you found the twins, how had their Nen been awakened? It was new.”

Hisoka shrugged and turned his attention to the window. It was finally raining.

“I don’t know. I have theories, but they have never spoken of that night, so I don’t ask.”

“What are your theories?”

“In my time doing this, I have learned specialists like the twins can have Nen activated as a defense mechanism when forced through significant trauma. I’ve only seen it evidenced in children, though I believe they were born with it activated to some degree, as genetics can only explain some pieces of their condition.”

“Have you seen evidence of that from birth Nen activation before?”

“On occasion, yes. From reclusive tribes like the Gemini, mostly. Children like that are considered valuable rarities, and fetch a high price. They very often aren’t killed at the typical aging out and are just put on puberty blockers until they’re about fifteen or so.”

“So they’re specialists.”

Hisoka considered telling him. They were all officially working together now. Chrollo, despite deferring to Hisoka, would need to understand all of their abilities if he was going to properly use them. And, if Hisoka told him, the twins wouldn’t have to, so Chrollo wouldn’t be able to steal their abilities. If he could. Hisoka wasn’t certain he could use it.

“Yes and no.”

Chrollo glanced over at him with dark eyes and Hisoka sighed softly.

“Separately, no, they are not specialists. If you put them far enough apart, they have ordinary abilities. I made them hone those abilities, of course, in the event that they are separated. Nox is a conjurer, with some control over emission, due to the nature of their hatsu. Nyx is a transmuter. They are able to amplify their abilities enough together to master manipulation and fully control emission. Their shadows and control over them are a result over that control. Together, they have the power to actually bring shadows to life, infuse them with Nen, enhance them to make them move and shift, grasp things, what have you. My abilities are a little useless against them, as the second I grab something, they can make it disperse. They call it Shadow Strike. They also have a secondary ability, Shadow Sight, which allows them to see through shadows and pinpoint hidden objects through a search. Their primary conjoined abilities are useless without a second player, so they would be difficult for you to steal without figuring out how to share Nen on the scale that they can naturally, which is the only reason I am telling you.”

“And their abilities independent of each other?”

“_ That _I will not be telling you just yet, as it is only necessary to know in given situations.”

“Situations where one gets kidnapped, but not the other.”

“Yes. You know now that should you decide they are a threat, you need to separate them far enough to break the link. So, no, I am not telling you what their independent abilities are.”

Chrollo was silent again, before he spoke.

“You must be a very good teacher. You would have to completely change your understanding of Nen to direct them.”

“I did.”

They fell silent again, the conversation tapering off, and Hisoka leaned over to switch on the radio.

“It’s a gamble,” Chrollo finally added. “Their abilities.”

“Life is nothing but a gamble, Chrollo. They’ve never _ not _done anything together.”

“Do you love them?”

Hisoka blinked and stared at Chrollo, unsure as to why he was asking this question.

“Why?”

“I know when you’re lying. I want to know if you’re capable of love.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“No.”

“Do you think you aren’t?”

“We aren’t talking about me.”

“I’d like to talk about you. It’s only fair. You invaded my most intimate memories, decided to take over my life’s work, and have done nothing but ask me questions despite offering nothing in return. We need trust, and this is beginning to feel rather one sided, darling danchou.”

Chrollo he didn’t understand. Even on a surface level. The signs were pointing everywhere, in all directions, and Hisoka could not understand why.

Chrollo didn’t reply to Hisoka’s declaration. Hisoka wondered what was going through his head.

“No. I think I have the capacity for it.”

“Why?” For once, Hisoka wanted to understand. He didn’t know where this feeling was coming from.

“I find love has to have a degree of faith. Not trust. Faith. And I’ve put my faith in others before.”

“The troupe, you mean. You put your faith in the troupe.”

Chrollo was refusing to look at him. Hisoka could tell it was a refusal, because there was tension in the line of his throat.

“Among others.”

“So you’re of the belief that love requires a level of commitment.”

“I don’t believe to _ be _ in love, you have to have commitment. I believe to love someone, even when you aren’t _ in _ love, which happens even in the oldest relationships, you have to have commitment. And faith that it’s worth waiting for it to come back.”

“My, my, Chrollo, I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” Hisoka teased, but inside, his heart was pounding, and he didn’t know why.

“I have a love of beautiful things, Hisoka. It’s the one thing that has driven me, beyond anything else. Of course I’m a romantic.”

There were lights on the horizon, and Hisoka realized that soon they were going to be reaching their destination.

“Well. What’s more beautiful than stealing some oxycodone for a pair of idiotic twins?”


	14. The Thieves and the Pharmacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka is perplexed with Chrollo's behavior, and Feitan is of the opinion that he is surrounded by idiots.

It had been some time since Hisoka had to pull on some gloves and don one of the twin’s wraps to cover his shock of red hair. He felt giddy, like he was a teenager again, all push and pull and no brakes to speak of. Petty crime was not something he often indulged in. He rarely robbed something as inane as a pharmacy. When he did actually have to not rely on the twins, his burglary was limited to the parameters of their task, and the occasional side gig to maintain his cover.

So this was exciting for him. It would have been more exciting had he not had the silent presence next to him, picking the lock on the backdoor with expert hands. No, the presence next to him dampened the excitement significantly, pulled him into a state of nerve wracking anxiety, because, try as he might, he could not understand why Chrollo was _ here _. Their conversation could have been had at any other time, and yet here was Chrollo, doing something that was decidedly beneath him, for literally no reason whatsoever.

The door clicked open and Chrollo stood fluidly, pushing it open for Hisoka to enter before him. How gentlemanly.

Hisoka slipped inside and surveyed the room as Chrollo went to disarm the alarm. Shelves upon shelves of medications, a wall of waiting prescriptions for their patients, packaged into neat little bags, arranged in alphabetical order.

“I don’t want to get anyone fired. The twins and Klaus would never let me hear the end of it, so make sure the cameras can get a glimpse of us,” Hisoka said as he made his way for the safe, very clearly getting caught in view of the camera on the other side of the pharmacy counter. “We’ll just have to steal all of the controlled substances.”

“Someone may go without their medications,” Chrollo warned and Hisoka shrugged.

“For a day. Pharmacies get shipments daily. It’ll be fine. We can leave the ones that keep people’s actual life functions going.”

“And you know which those are?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Research purposes.” In fact, Hisoka had memorized every medication that kept essential life systems going, in the event they were caught and someone wanted to quietly hush them up. It was unlikely any of them would develop diabetes or something, but Hisoka was paranoid.

Standing opposite the safe, away from the cameras, Hisoka reached out and placed his hands on the metal doors.

“Hisoka.”

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing.”

“Opening the safe.”

“... Get out of the way.”

Hisoka raised his brow and looked at Chrollo, who almost looked frustrated with him. Obligingly, Hisoka stepped aside and Chrollo made a beeline for the safe, placing his ear on the metal as he cracked it open.

“You move to wreck stuff way too quickly,” Chrollo chastised as he pulled open the doors. “Get the bag.”

Hisoka huffed in irritation, but opened the empty backpack and let Chrollo dump in medications.

“Not that one. Put that back,” Hisoka snapped, pointing with his free hand to the bottle of alurate in Chrollo’s hand. “It’s for epilepsy.”

Chrollo raised his brows only slightly, as if surprised Hisoka hadn’t lied, and slid it back onto the shelf.

They had basically devastated the safe. Hisoka zipped the bag shut and slung it onto his back.

“See? I can be decent, sometimes,” he purred, and Chrollo ignored him, heading for the door.

Chrollo held the door for Hisoka, yet again, and Hisoka filed that away as proof that no, Chrollo still didn’t trust him. _ Good. _Hisoka had only been caught slipping once.

The drive back to the manor was silent. It being Chrollo, they had actually talked about a lot, and Hisoka was still processing just what was going on here. He didn’t know. Chrollo knew, surely, but he wasn’t about to ask. He could be patient. This was a tightrope situation, and Hisoka _ had _been raised in a circus. He was excellent at a tightrope.

Hisoka still couldn’t get over how easily Chrollo managed a manual transmission. It was honestly offensive, how good Chrollo was at things.

They pulled up to the manor in silence and Hisoka made to get out.

A hand grabbed his wrist and he stopped, looking at Chrollo in something akin to confusion.

“What?”

Chrollo studied him for a minute, and Hisoka had a petri dish moment again.

Without a word, Hisoka was released, feeling more confused than he had when Nox cried for thirty minutes over trigonometry.

Rushing to escape him, Hisoka made a beeline for the twins’ room, leaving the two bottles of oxycodone on the nightstand. That should last them a few months. They were still sleeping soundly. Hisoka reckoned with this new medication, they’d build a tolerance in a month or two. He’d have to deal with that when it came time to deal with it.

Unable to stand being in the same room as them, even while they were sleeping, Hisoka stole out of the bedroom and made for the kitchen. He needed a hot toddy. Or some straight liquor. Either would be just fine. It was barely midnight, but it felt like he had spent a century in that Jeep. Outside, it was still drizzling down, and he was sieged by the urge to go stand in it.

No, that wouldn’t do. If his time with the troupe had taught him anything, it was that spiders slept sparingly at best, and he couldn’t risk looking so vulnerable right when they had joined forces. Maybe a mug of cocoa was in order.

The kitchen was bare of any presence. Hisoka hadn’t been allowed out of Chrollo’s bedroom long enough to know where everything was, but he had seen Machi make a cup of tea at one point. If he was correct, there had been a container of cocoa mix shoved in with the boxes and canisters. Rifling through the cabinets, he found it, and made for the fridge. No milk. Wonderful. With a sigh, he acquiesced to shoddy cocoa, and put the kettle on to boil.

There was the faintest alarm as the kettle started to heat up, and he turned at the presence of Nen in the kitchen doorway. Feitan.

Feitan Hisoka had never really liked. It wasn’t that Feitan wasn’t fun to toy with. He was. It was just that he was, well, boring. A devoted fanatic to Chrollo and the troupe, with no degree of depth to swim in. Simple. Single minded. While seeing him work to break someone down was fascinating, Hisoka didn’t know why he would want to dip his toes in a kiddie pool when he could swim in an ocean. Feitan’s chief obsession was the troupe, and beyond that he could only manage to care about one thing at a time. He was incredibly perceptive, of course, and he could _ play _at being complex, could slip into a role like a dress, but it was … boring. False complexity was boring. Everything was black and white to Feitan, simple, definite. And Hisoka just could not abide that for extended amounts of time.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Hisoka didn’t know why Chrollo had insisted on a clock in every room. It was too on the nose dramatic for tense situations like these. Hisoka preferred a little more subtlety.

“Feitan.”

“Hisoka.”

“Can I assist you in some way?”

Feitan’s eyes shifted to the kettle and then he was moving.

“Make another.”

“You want cocoa?”

Feitan opened a door to what should have been the pantry, but in reality was maybe the sixth alcohol cabinet the troupe had.

“Rum?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Feitan?”

Feitan snorted briefly and turned to Hisoka, rum in hand. Hisoka had never tried to get close enough to the troupe to be around them when they were all gathered in a hideout. It was strange seeing Feitan in casual clothes.

“If you get drunk off of splash of rum, you should not be here.”

Hisoka sighed and simply moved to get a second mug out of the cabinet.

“So long as we don’t start really drinking, I suppose.”

Feitan sat the rum on the counter and stared at the kettle, as though he was willing it to boil faster. Hisoka dearly hoped he wouldn’t bring out a miniature rising sun and blow it up. He didn’t want to have to microwave the next batch. There were some principles to be had.

“No milk, or are you gross?”

“No milk,” Hisoka confirmed, once again finding himself irritated by someone’s presence. He wanted to be _ alone _ with his _ thoughts _, dammit. It seemed all of his stalking was catching up to him.

“They never do grocery runs right.”

“Why are you here?” Hisoka asked bluntly, and Feitan’s eyes shifted to look at him. “You don’t like me.”

“Want cocoa.”

Right. Feitan was simple. Painfully, obtusely simple. Hisoka was tired. He wanted a bath and a facemask. The twins, bless their little hearts, had thought to not only pack his regular routine, but his sheet masks as well. He wanted to get to them.

But, he was still set up in Chrollo’s bedroom. The thought of taking a bath in _ his _tub was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Not that company with Feitan was much better.

“Where did you and danchou go?” Feitan asked and Hisoka, remembered, briefly, that yes, he and Chrollo had gone to rob a pharmacy together, and he had actually been trying to forget that.

“We were robbing a pharmacy.”

“Why?”

“The twins forgot a medication.”

“Which medication?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Machi has a room of medications.”

“... Does she have oxycodone?”

“Yes. All painkillers and antibiotics. For injuries.”

Then why on _ earth _…

“I see.”

He did _ not _see. Was Chrollo toying with him?

“Machi is a doctor.”

“I know.” Licensed, in fact. Hisoka was not sure why Feitan was telling him this.

“Twins have a lot of medicines?”

“Yes.”

“Machi can get them.”

“They have a doctor.”

“In different country, yes? At Hyban Hospital?”

“He almost has international licensing for his patients.”

“Bah.”

The kettle started whistling and Hisoka moved to take it off the heat.

“Let it sit. Boiling water burns the taste.”

“You take cocoa seriously?”

“Of course I do, Feitan. I take all sweets seriously.” Hisoka couldn’t help but throw in a cloying smile.

“Is Chrollo sweet?”

Had there been cocoa in his mouth, Hisoka would have choked. Instead, he flicked off the cap of the rum and took a long swig before he responded.

“What?”

Feitan stared at Hisoka for a moment as the steam curled up and towards the silent fan above the stove.

“Machi is right. You are both stupid.”

“There was a time you would have killed someone for saying Chrollo was stupid.”

“Yes. Because he was not being stupid. Now he is.”

Hisoka could poke and prod Feitan for an explanation of that statement, but, for one, he did not want to know. For two, poking and prodding Feitan was useless, and therefore a waste of time. Feitan was a resolute being, more stone than man, and therefore any information to be gleaned from him was what he said, when he said it, and no more.

Hisoka did not feel like doing a pointless task.

Feitan leveled out the cocoa mix, several heaping spoonfuls, past the recommended amount, and Hisoka realized that, of all the odd things about him, Feitan had a sweet tooth. He seemed more to like his coffee black.

“Mmm. Didn’t have you fixed as having a sweet tooth, Feitan. What other sweet things do you like?”

Feitan glanced at him as he poured the water.

“Blood is sweet.”

Hisoka smiled, his split lip pulling painfully. He soaked in that pain.

“Did you like mine?”

“You should not flirt with those you do not want, Hisoka. Is bad form.”

“When have I ever not had bad form, hm?”

“You have good form for fighting,” Feitan stated simply. “Always seemed off to me. Now we know.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Your form. Is inconsistent with your story before. It should have been more untrained. Self taught. It was not. You hid it well, yes, yes. But when you are stressed, have to focus on not dying, you have the kordai form. You cannot teach yourself kordai. They do not write it down. Someone taught you, and it was important enough to hide.” Feitan threw in a splash of rum to both mugs and handed Hisoka his. “Your handler, yes? The dead one, Shalnark said. He taught you. So he was from where I am from.”

Hisoka knew Feitan was smart. He had always avoided fighting him simply _ because _his accent was so similar to Daiten, his form so like his handler, his stance and his hair. Hisoka knew they weren’t related, of course. Daiten had no children, no wife, no family, no brothers or sisters. He left Kordo when an illness claimed his village, when he was fifteen, and never returned. Feitan was not old enough to be related.

Even so. He was enough like Daiten in some ways, just like Gon and Killua were like the twins, in others. Gon and Killua he could hold back from killing. They were easy to put down. Feitan, however, if it came down to it, would kill Hisoka, or Hisoka would kill him to stay alive.

So, he had never fought him. Never instigated him enough for Feitan to want to, just let it hover on the edge of boiling.

“Yes, he was from Kordo,” Hisoka finally said. “He didn’t teach me _ everything _. I already knew how to fight when he found me.”

“Kordai is not about fighting. Is about discipline. Is why I did not like you.”

“You wound me. I thought my shining personality was enough.”

“Also why I do not like you.”

Ah. There it was. Hisoka caught the did not and do not, and Feitan’s grammar was not so bad that that was a mistake. So this was a peace offering. Feitan respected him. Sort of.

At least _ someone _in this damn manor did.

Hisoka sipped at the cocoa, ignoring the burn of heat and liquor as it slid down his throat.

“Do you agree with Chrollo on this … operation?”

“Yes. Is smart, and will be fun.”

Fun. Right. This was all fun to them. Something ugly twisted in Hisoka’s gut.

“There’s easier targets.”

“Yes. But honor is important.”

“Is it?”

Feitan studied Hisoka critically. Hisoka hated it when he was not the one studying.

“You think you are honorless.”

Ah, Feitan. Even without the knife, he always aimed right for where it hurt the most. A skilled interrogator, in or out of the room.

“Perhaps.”

“I did not see what they saw,” Feitan stated. “I do not know. So I cannot tell you, from that, that you are wrong.”

“Wrong in thinking I _ am _honorless, or wrong in thinking I’m not?”

“You have honor. It is just different.”

“Feitan, I thought the word games were my forte. Have I been teaching you something?”

“Ten years is very long time to lose your resolve. Lots of temptation, more than most, too. You did not. So I think you have honor.”

“I don’t think honor matters much in a den of thieves, so you shouldn’t think too much into mine,” Hisoka said smoothly, taking another sip of cocoa.

“Honor matters to me.”

“Mmm.” Non committal. Hisoka didn’t want to pursue this conversation. There had been a lot of deep conversations, a lot of deep thoughts in the past few days. If he kept pursuing these talks, they would never get a chance to die down.

“You know, Feitan, now that we possibly won’t kill each other,” and here a hint of a smirk twitched at Hisoka’s lips, “we should fight sometime.”

“Why do you think I won’t?”

“Call it intuition.”

“You have bad intuition.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Feitan snorted at that.

“I think twins saved you enough that you cannot use that as excuse.”

“They have a total of four rescues under the belt. I have seven. I think I’m winning.”

“Can twins save you from me?”

Hisoka thought back to the one time he had seen Feitan’s Rising Sun, blotting out the true sun on the precipice of the horizon of Meteor City, the devastating impact. He thought back to his own fears for the twins, that constant worry that he would get them killed, that he had led them into a den of people who could kill them in a moment, if they so choose. That doubt, in himself, more than in them. How he had sacrificed, and sacrificed, and sacrificed to give them a shot. How they had been beating him in sparring for two years now, now without even breaking a sweat.

“Without a doubt.”

“You have faith.”

Hisoka thought back to that conversation, scarcely two hours ago now, in the Jeep, while they drove through the rain. Faith and love.

“Yes. Of course I do.”

In hindsight, he realized Feitan’s own abilities were a direct contradiction to the twins’ own. Sun versus shadow. Perhaps they wouldn’t be a good match. But, damn the twins, if they didn’t always beat the odds. Not that they would ever get a _ chance _to fight him. Hisoka would knock them out himself if he had to. That was an absolute no fly zone, so help him.

“Of course, if you _ do _ try to fight them, I will kill you myself,” Hisoka added as an afterthought. “Just because they _ can _ doesn’t mean they _ should. _”

Feitan snorted.

“You were more fun before twins. You are not fun as big brother.”

“No, I am not.”

Hisoka would be _ damned _ if his concept of fun influenced the twins, because heaven help him, he was not prepared to deal with _ that _mess.

“You should finish cocoa and go to bed.”

“I’m not that tired.”

“You lie.”

Ah, good old Feitan. Dependable. Irritating.

Hisoka would just have to brave Chrollo’s bed one more night before requesting a room of his own. They seriously needed to figure out where they were going to be basing operations. The thought of moving all of their hard drives was a terrifying one. He almost wanted to just force the troupe to set up camp outside the bungalow.


	15. The Files and the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shalnark has hit a wall with the flash drive Nyx gave to Chrollo, so Nyx gives him a little direction.

Shalnark was rarely ever frustrated. It wasn’t really in his wiring to get irritated with a difficult task. He generally just smiled and kept going, because that was just what he did. He was frustrated now, though.

They were having to work with people outside of the troupe. That was fine. They had, on occasion, done it before. However, this time they weren’t the ones with the clear power. Of course, all of the troupe combined could easily take out Hisoka and the twins. It would be easy. Simple, even. Hisoka could probably take on two to three of them at a time and survive. The twins together, he wasn’t sure what they were capable of separately, could take on any troupe member easily enough, so long as it was only one troupe member, two with some degree of difficulty, possibly survive three and get away. He knew this because they had been here a week while negotiations were being hashed out over how much information Hisoka would give willingly. The two had remained separate from it all, unwilling to speak to anyone except Ky’ia and Machi, and Ky’ia wasn’t even a troupe member. They primarily just went out in the forest to train, and it had become a game of which troupe member could observe them the longest without getting caught and the twins leaving.

Nobunaga had the record so far, but Shalnark had gotten close enough to see what they were like with light training, and he knew they’d be an even opponent. They could probably even take on Feitan together, if they were really trying hard enough. Might survive. It was about 70/30.

So, no, he wasn’t frustrated because they had power. Their power was decently matched to the troupe, they just fell short in numbers. And so, in the sense of sheer strength, the troupe had the upper hand.

No, he was frustrated because they held the power of information. Years of information, scattered all over the continent, without a trail, that the troupe would never manage to track down. In that aspect, the troupe was virtually helpless. In fact, the only reason Ky’ia was still alive was because they held that power, and Shalnark wondered if they knew that their saving grace was the twins and Hisoka.

Probably.

What was even _ more _frustrating was the contents of the flash drive. The data was all over the place. When he had tried to arrange it all chronologically, he was only set for more frustration, because it would seem after the events of York New auction, Hisoka had really stopped trying with Meteor City, or the twins had stopped, or something had happened, because there were only a couple of cases of kidnappings, three or four instances of money exchanging hands, one instance of a circus, possibly even Hisoka’s, picking up a few children from desperate parents, lulled by the promise that they would give their children a chance in the outside world.

After the Chimera Ant invasion, data stopped entirely, which Shalnark could at least understand. There was no way of knowing, with limited information available, if any of the children were infected, and even if they had been snatched, it would be impossible to tell in all of the chaos.

Even so, he was frustrated. First of all, there was no way the troupe could have not known about this. All of it was too deliberate to go unnoticed. It made no sense. Secondly, he felt like this data package was a deliberate set of clues left by the twins, and the longer he stared at it, the more he felt like he was being toyed with.

Shalnark was the one who made people toys. People did not make him a toy.

And, therefore, he was frustrated.

He had avoided admitting defeat. Avoided losing his temper, but he was aggravated enough now because there was this sense that the twins were _ waiting. _And Hisoka was stalling because he was waiting for a sign from them. It felt like the three of them had some kind of push and pull relationship, where Hisoka took the lead sometimes, most times, and deferred to them other times. Shalnark was certain the only reason they had teamed up in the first place was because they needed his consent. It was like a specialist ability. Some form of contract existed between the three of them, and conditions they didn’t feel the need to inform the troupe of needed to be met before they proceeded.

The troupe was being tested. Of that, Shalnark was certain, and it rankled him. They were the Phantom Troupe. They could do anything, anything they wanted. Nothing was beyond their power, and yet there was this sense of them needing to _ prove _themselves. Or, more specifically, Shalnark needing to prove that they were worthy.

The very gall of it almost offended him.

Almost.

Because he was Shalnark. And if they wanted him to prove that the troupe could be capable, so be it.

Most other members would have tried to kill them for the slight. And they likely would succeed.

But Shalnark knew better than that. After all, they were clever enough to do this. They were clever enough to send him on a hunt without even having to say it. So perhaps they were worthy of a game. And worthy enough to be true allies, not toys the troupe collected and then tossed aside when it was all said and done.

And so he found himself outside of the library, where Nyx could be found alone, away from Nox every so often. Nox themselves preferred to sketch on the rooftop. He thought they wrote poetry, from the flashes in Hisoka's memories, but it seemed like they had outgrown that.

Nyx, he knew, was the tech one, the hacker. Shalnark liked to study difficult toys. It had been clear that Nyx was the one that handled all of the organizing, the planning, the hacking, the intelligence they gathered. And so Nyx was the one to talk to.

“Nyx,” he said, and Nyx finally looked up from their laptop. Shalnark was sure they knew he was there before. The two were wonderful at ignoring people. Probably a defense mechanism from living with Hisoka.

“You’re the tech one, aren’t you?”

Nyx studied Shalnark with very, very dangerous eyes before nodding once. Just once. Shalnark moved to sit across from them so they could write and pass the notepad more easily.

“The data you gave us. Did you just get bored with Meteor City after Yorkshin Auction?”

Shalnark liked picking people apart, learning their tells, studying them like an insect. Human body language fascinated him, because while he couldn’t understand humans, didn’t care to, it was intriguing that most humans that actually cared to understand one another never thought to learn to read every tell.

Nyx had very rigid body language, except for when they were signing. The second anyone came around that wasn’t in their accepted circle, their body language turned ice cold and rigid. It was fascinating how it contrasted Nox, because Nox became even more open, like they were daring the stranger to make a move.

Shalnark preferred Nyx’s, though Nox was fascinating in their own right.

**We don’t get bored with any supply points**, Nyx wrote and Shalnark tilted his head.

“Then are you withholding information on current movements?”

**We’re withholding a lot of information, if you didn’t notice.**

“Oh, I see. You will not answer a question if it isn’t specific. Are you withholding information on current movements in Meteor City?”

**No. You have all of the information you need.**

“Then why does the information taper off so drastically?”

**Two reasons. One I will tell you. The ring randomly leaves major supply points every few years, to make it harder to pinpoint. Meteor City was a main supplier for three years, and they left it before it caught notice.**

“And why won’t you tell me the other reason?”

**If I told you, then you’d know.**

Enigmatic was a good word to describe Nyx. Extremely enigmatic. Shalnark wasn’t as frustrated before, though. Being able to talk to a wall was surprisingly therapeutic.

“Okay, then I will reframe the question. Why are you playing a game?”

Nyx tapped their pen on the table thoughtfully. Shalnark had noticed that habit, when he snuck out of his room to observe them on occasion. It was the one break in their ice queen persona.

**We have done this work for five years. Hisoka has done it for ten, fourteen if you count the years before his handler. We can’t just give you our life’s work without knowing if you can do the work, too.**

It was fair, even if it was insulting. Danchou had been right, though. They were skilled thieves and killers. That didn’t make them spies.

“Okay then. Another question. All of this information is too obvious. There is just no conceivable way they could have done this under our noses, even with our long absences. Is this information false?”

**It depends on your perspective. One could say, if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you could accuse me of it being false. But, no, it isn’t false.**

Ah. There it was again, that foreign emotion he had come to understand the past few days. Frustration.

“Then how?”

**If you aren’t good enough to figure out how you let this happen, you don’t need to be doing this, and need to hand it back to us. You’ll only slow us down.**

“You are a very confident person.” Phinks would be pissed at this point. Good thing he was not Phinks.

**You’re thieves. You aren’t spies.**

They were correct. A lot of the skills were the same, being a thief and being a spy, but it ultimately came down to how those skills were applied, and how big you could get the picture.

Shalnark could get a very, very big picture, if he chose to apply himself.

He wondered if anyone had asked them yet, of the three, no, four of them that had seen. Perhaps Ky’ia knew. He doubted it. If anything, they seemed genuinely at ease around Ky’ia. He wondered how often they got to be around people their own age. He knew they were homeschooled, possibly graduated now. Again, he didn’t understand why. Hisoka was strange.

“You hate us, don’t you?”

**Hate is a strong word to use. If we hated you, we wouldn’t be here.**

“You dislike us then.”

**That is too weak of a word.**

“Do you hold a grudge against us?”

**No. Too many grudges would make things too complicated and expend needless energy.**

Shalnark realized Nyx was a lot like him, in a lot of ways, except they were quite different. Capable of emotion, perhaps even strong ones, but they almost seemed to view them as a tool. He had a feeling Nox had other views towards emotions.

Interesting toys. Too interesting for antennae.

“You are very interesting. I like you.”

**I do not like you.**

“That’s okay.”

**So long as you understand.**

Shalnark stood and stretched.

“Well, I guess I gotta go solve this now, before someone goes and loses their temper with how long this is taking. After all, Hisoka is waiting on you two.”

Nyx’s head jerked up at that, and their eyes narrowed, but Shalnark was already out the door. He didn’t care. He was certain Nyx knew he was onto them and their dynamic, anyways.

Now, he knew Nyx was not lying about the information. Nyx did actually want him to figure it out, and by proxy, so did Hisoka and Nox. So how did this happen under their noses? He felt like Nyx had given him hints, but none of them were obvious enough for him to pick them out. Polite of them, really.

Reaching his room, he sat at his desk and stared at the folder on his desktop. The flash drive had long since been copied, left next to his mousepad, and he studied it for a moment.

They wouldn’t tell him the other reason.

Sitting back, he stared up at the ceiling as his brain whirred with the information he had been presented. There were a lot of emotional people in the troupe. They were all, collectively, a dangerous, deadly, powerful mess. Most members had hair triggers. They would kill at the mildest of insults, and there was no way the twins didn’t know that, and yet they had simply swaggered in, very clearly insulting everyone left and right, despite no one having any idea of what they were saying. And, yet, they also were willing to play their games. When they caught members spying, they didn’t get angry, or irritated. They had good humor about it. They were playful, in a way. Even with deadly opponents, they liked a good game.

That was the only reason the troupe had accepted them staying at the manor without much complaint. The troupe wanted to play, and the twins were willing to square up and game without bothering to pretend they liked anyone they didn’t like. Honesty.

Understanding that of them, Shalnark also understood they had left clues for him to find. It was a game. They knew to speak the language of the troupe. He supposed they have to find other ways to communicate. You couldn’t write on a notepad all the time.

They were in charge. Hisoka was deferring to them, for some unknown reason, but he also wasn’t entirely divorced from the equation. He had trained them, raised them, in a way. There was his influence, and because he knew Hisoka longer, he had to go off what he knew of him. Hisoka was scheming, insidious, layers of lies upon lies.

Layers. Like Texture Surprise. He recalled that Hisoka had fooled the full troupe in York New with Texture Surprise. And York New was when the kidnappings had trickled off.

Texture Surprise. Falsifying information. Nyx hadn’t said the information was false. They said if you don't look at it correctly, you could claim it was.

The attack on York New had been leveled at the mafia. The mafia had long had dealings with Meteor City, and the troupe. The elders handled the negotiations, but everything had to be approved by the troupe.

Shalnark leaned back forward to stare at the folder again. Humming to himself, he plugged in the flash drive and opened up the folder of the copied information that existed on his hard drive. Within, he opened the folder of the pictures. All jpeg files. Something was off at that, but he couldn’t quite recall. Sucking on his lip, he opened up his program that ran a sweep on any inserted media for viruses or programs he didn’t want on his computer. It was the standard encryption software, almost too standard for the level of paranoia the team evidently operated on. Perhaps Nyx hadn’t wanted to inconvenience him. But …

There it was. A line of code that converted files once they were transferred over to another source. It only activated when the files were copied. Opening a search engine, he went over to a hunter site dedicated to coder hunters. Typing the code commands into the search bar, he waited for it to load. A forum popped up, and he scrolled through the comments.

**Figured out a nifty way to convert .gyo to .jpeg when the file moves locations. Kinda simple. Could be useful. Lemme know if it works for you. It works on some systems, but I can’t make it work for apple. Any suggestions?**

It was so simple, Shalnark was almost irritated. A gyo file enabled the maker to essentially “photoshop” a photo so objects in the image that were “edited” out could be seen through Gyo. It was developed a few years after Greed Island, and it had become fairly commonplace. It was common practice to create a gyo file, convert it to jpeg, and then convert it back to gyo when it reached the people it was meant to reach. Generally, it had to be done manually. Shalnark didn’t know you could automate the process. Looks like Nyx had just taught him something. He rarely used them, so it was to be expected, but he saw them enough that his eyes had glazed over the files when he switched them to the hard drive on instinct.

Clever. Relying on how mundane a thing could be.

If Shalnark cared to acknowledge them, he would be impressed. 

Opening the flash drive folder, he brought up all gyo files. There were only seven pictures.

Clicking open the first, he activated his Gyo.

It felt like he’d been shot in the chest.

Standing in a group of men loading a group of children into a black van was a mountain of a man, with long red hair and bushy brows, a bundle of money in his hand.

Uvogin.

So that was how. It made sense. It really did. It also made sense as to why the Chain User had killed him, but not Chrollo. He had been allied with Hisoka. Hisoka must have told him.

It would likely irritate Chrollo, that Hisoka trusted the Chain User so easily, but they had to literally force their way in, back the twins and Hisoka into a wall, to make it happen.

_ They didn’t have to give him permission, they just had to give him power. _

Uvogin must have procured them for the ring. It all made sense, really, how often Uvogin went on solo missions and never told anyone what he was doing, how he rarely left Meteor City in the meantime. It was his cash flow.

Shalnark knew how the troupe would react.

As he had noted before, they were collectively a constantly boiling pool of emotions and disasters waiting to happen.

He’d need evidence independent of Hisoka and the twins to keep everyone calm, before he told Chrollo. He liked to do things before Chrollo had to ask.

If Chrollo really wanted to do this, Shalnark would make it happen. What danchou wanted, danchou got, even if they had to lose spiders to do it. Chrollo hadn’t lost his temper with Hisoka yet. He hadn’t killed him, bore the brunt of the twins’ scathing attitude and dismissive tones, let Hisoka hole up in his room until Hisoka demanded a new one. And then he had just given it to Hisoka. He actually just gave Hisoka everything. Chrollo, therefore, liked Hisoka. And an explosion of rage that would come with the troupe accusing the twins of lying, of desecrating the dead, would upset danchou.

Shalnark made what the danchou want real. He found the information Chrollo needed before he needed it, before he had to ask.

He had very little emotional attachment to Uvogin. So this didn’t really bother him. Some would consider Uvogin a monster. Shalnark didn’t really care. The dead were dead. Uvogin had been dead for years, and his reputation was of little import.

What mattered was what Chrollo wanted. What mattered was the living, he supposed, if it was a rather odd thought. Living, dead, only one was slightly less unimportant than the other.

The troupe made Chrollo happy, and Hisoka, weirdly enough, also made him happy. Choosing between the two would not make him happy.

So Shalnark would fix it.


	16. The Roof and the Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan and Nox come to an agreement.

It had been one week. One week, and Nox was still patiently waiting for Shalnark to get into gear and figure out the riddle. Nyx had mentioned, before bed, that Shalnark had finally come talk to them and Nox had snorted in something akin to amusement, asked if he was smart enough to get some independent evidence before he brought it up.

They had, in a way, almost played him like a fiddle. Their nightmares of Uvogin had gone away years ago. For a long time, it was a raw wound to Nox, until they decided to follow Nyx’s example and forgive where it benefited them. Forgiving the troupe benefited them. That didn’t mean they _ forgot _, but there was no sense in going against what they couldn’t beat, or expecting an apology that would never come. They would take what they got, and make it work.

Uvogin had acquired specialties for the ring. He also allowed them free access to Meteor City, and hid their presence from the troupe for a substantial payoff.

Shalnark was very good. He was the one that set up all of their finances, hid all of the trails. And he was good, too good for Nyx to unravel his threads. That was to be expected. Uvogin’s finances had a good chance of unlocking _ something _for them. Shalnark would have to pull up those finances to provide proof to the troupe. And when it was revealed to the troupe, then it would join their evidence pile. His money may not lead them to the head, but it would get them close.

Nyx didn’t want to go to bed yet. They were finishing up another virus, and Nox had to acquiesce to their wants. Part of the annoyance of their condition was that drugs were registered as damage, which was fair, and so in order to go to bed, they had to take their medications at once. They _ could _go to bed separately, of course, but it was generally infinitely more difficult to sleep, and threw off their med doses, and interfered with whatever the other was doing.

Klaus was fairly sure that once they were under less constant stress and their bodies calmed down, they would react to medications differently, and their bodies would stop viewing them as a threat.

Maybe when they were done.

Stress, apparently, affected a lot of things.

And so, here Nox was, sitting on the roof, a charcoal stick in their fingers as they sketched. It was dark out, not very good light for drawing, but they liked the chill of the night that stretched through their thin hoodie. They could feel Nyx down below, dragging away some of Nox’s Nen. They always pulled at Nox’s Nen when they were irritated. Greedy.

Frowning, when it got too draining, Nox yanked it back and a little more flowed through from Nyx, a small “sorry”.

They’d better chill the fuck out. Nox frowned and went back to sketching. A Nen presence was approaching. The two of them were still getting used to how murderous these people were all the time. There was no real time to breathe.

Footsteps, now, as the person climbed up onto the roof from the library balcony behind them. Nox ignored them, the tree on their paper taking shape. They didn’t like to be interrupted while they were sketching. They also just didn’t like the troupe in general, and they knew Hisoka’s Nen by heart, and Ky’ia’s was much different than anyone else they had ever met.

“I like how you talk.”

Oh, so it was Feitan. The hyper creepy one. And that was a really creepy way to open up the conversation.

Nox did not respond. They just kept sketching. Feitan finally came up next to them, looking out over the forest.

Silence passed for a few moments as the wind rustled through Nox’s hair, actually loose for once.

Feitan crouched next to them, elbows on his knees, and peered over at Nox’s drawing.

“You do not draw faces?”

Nox finally looked over him, and then obviously scooted to the side, away from him. It was too dark to write, and their fingers were covered in charcoal, so they couldn’t type. What Feitan was trying to accomplish, they didn’t know.

Feitan seemed unperturbed. He just kept staring at them, and Nox just kept ignoring him, focusing instead on their drawing.

“Oh. I see. I cannot sign. You cannot write. It is dark.”

Slow on the uptake, then.

“Why are you drawing?”

Very slow, since he literally just said _ they cannot actually speak. _

This one had yet to participate in the game. He wasn’t the playful type, Nox thought. That, or he just changed the rules for himself.

Nox sighed and finally looked away from their work to stare at Feitan, trying to communicate through expression alone that this was not going to work and he should _ leave. _ Feitan just stared back, like he was trying to memorize their face.

“You and Nyx. You have a mole by your left eye. Nyx has one by their right. That is your only difference except for your hair.”

Nox’s expression shifted to incredulous, communicating through nothing but facial muscles that Feitan was _ weird _ and _ creepy. _

Feitan seemed to remember that he had forgotten something, and unbuttoned his coat to pull out a tablet. He unlocked it, revealing some kind of drawing app, and held it and a stylus out to Nox. Nox looked like this physically pained them.

“I clean stylus when you are done. You write.”

Their temper rising, Nox snatched the tablet and very viciously scrawled across the screen.

**I am drawing. Stop interrupting me.**

“But I wish to speak with you.”

There was a button at the top of the app that wiped the “slate”, and Nox tapped it so they could answer.

**Then ask your question and leave me alone.**

“I do not have just one question.”

**Then pick one. ONE.**

Feitan almost looked crestfallen, but Nox literally was so far from caring.

“But they are all important.”

**Why?**

“Because they are.”

**What are your questions about?**

“You.”

Nox felt frustration rising up again, and there was a tug at their Nen. Ah. They were pulling from Nyx now. Whoops.

**I’m not answering questions about Nen, Nyx, Hisoka, the operation, or anything, until Hisoka decides we can start sharing.**

“Do you dance?”

What?

**No.**

“The way you two speak. It is like dancing. I thought you danced.”

**I don’t have time for dancing.**

“You have time now, no? You are waiting.”

**What, do you like to dance?**

“Yes.”

**You’re kidding.**

“No.”

Nox stared at Feitan, brows furrowed. He was the second strongest member of the troupe, second only to Chrollo. He was also the head interrogator, and known for torture. He was deadly, and rather simple minded. Not because of his language barrier, no. He literally just only cared about one thing at a time, and, previously, had only been known as having little to no emotional depth whatsoever.

**You like to dance.**

“I like art. Dance is art. You like art, too.”

**There’s a difference in making art and stealing it.**

“I do both.”

**If you say something about how making someone bleed is art, I will punch you, truce be damned.**

“You would not. And it is. Ugly things are art. Pretty things are art. You are pretty when you are mad.”

**You are a creep.**

“You kill.”

**Yeah, but I don’t LIKE it.**

“Not even sometimes?”

**You can like something in the moment and hate it in the aftermath.**

“So you do not think what you do is right?”

Nox really did not want to think about these things right now.

**Sometimes you gotta not think about what’s right or wrong and just do it.**

“But then how do you justify?”

**You don’t.**

“So _ why _do you do it?”

**Why are you asking me this stuff?**

Feitan tilted his head, black hair spilling out of his eyes. He was kind of ugly, Nox realized, in a sort of bulldog cute way.

“I have not met someone that kills for reasons.”

**Sure you have. You guys kill because you want things.**

“Not those reasons. Everyone kills for those reasons. To take. Why do you?”

Nox tapped the stylus on the side of the tablet, thinking about how best to phrase this.

**I do kill to take.**

“Take what?”

**Myself back.**

“Do you have to take yourself back that way?”

**Maybe not. I don’t really think about it.**

“Why not?”

**Because it’s what I chose. No turning back now.**

“So is it not about honor?”

Nox shrugged.

**Honor is relative. I just think sometimes, you gotta do the wrong thing to get the right result. So it isn’t about right, wrong, moral, immoral. It’s about doing what needs to be done. Sometimes there’s so much wrong you can’t do the right thing to make it ok. May be different for Hisoka and Nyx tho. We don’t talk about it.**

“Why not?”

**We kind of have a creed. Logic first, emotions second. So if we really get down and start questioning what we’re doing, we could fall off the wagon. If even one of us falls off, it all falls apart.**

“So you do not talk about feelings? I was not expecting that.”

**No, we do. Just some things we don’t.**

“I see.”

**Can I get back to drawing now?**

“Can I teach you another art?”

**If you’re asking to dance with me on a rooftop, no.**

Feitan looked like a kicked puppy again. Nox knew what it was like when someone had a crush. Nyx and them weren’t _ completely _sequestered from the rest of the world. They went to town often, since they had to go to the hospital, anyways. And in the six years since meeting Hisoka, the two of them had broken a fair amount of hearts, through no fault of their own. They just didn’t have time. Boys and girls followed them around like puppies more often than not, and while it was nice to be reminded they could be desirous to age appropriate people, despite all the damage that had been done, again, they didn’t have the time.

Poor Feitan. He probably rarely met someone outside of the troupe who he didn’t have to kill, or didn’t want to kill him, who was close(ish) to his power level. Had Nox not been so very, very close to holding a grudge, they would almost pity him on another level for the information Shalnark was going to reveal. It would take a day or two at most.

Then again, this was Feitan, and Nox was well aware of his reputation. His idea of a crush likely ended in him killing the person being crushed on and using their organs to make a sculpture. No, thanks.

**I told you. I don’t dance.**

“You should,” Feitan replied. “You have spirit.”

Sighing, questioning their actions deeply, Nox gave in, just a little.

**Tell you what. Tomorrow, jump in on the game. I’ll dance with you the way I** , and "I" was underlined quite viciously, **dance. Zetsu only.**

“I do not want to fight you. Hisoka would be upset, and he is aggravating when upset.”

**It’s not fighting. It’s sparring. In Zetsu. You keep up, maybe I’ll consider a dance. IF you leave me alone to draw. Like. Right now.**

Feitan took that as a win, and took back the tablet and stylus before standing. For a moment, he rolled the charcoal covered stylus around in his fingers, before moving it to the other hand and reaching out to brush the charcoal onto the back of Nox’s hand, making a dot with a circle ringing it. That accomplished, he left Nox in a state of confusion. What on earth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty short! This fic has gotten to the size where some beta readers might be necessary, so if anyone is interested, my twitter handle is the same as the one here. I would really appreciate it!


	17. The Blood and the Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ky'ia learns how to beg for their life, while Nox learns how to fight without the need to kill.

Shalnark and Chrollo had been in conference for an hour now. The twins had warned Ky’ia. Of course they had. Nox hadn’t wanted to accept it, was willing to fight the troupe. Nyx had been silent, watching Ky’ia with this unreadable expression on their face. Ky’ia couldn’t figure out how the twins had taken to them so easily. It was a bit of a mystery, but they weren’t in a position to reject friendship so close to their death. Nox had left a little while later, and Nyx had handed Ky’ia a folded up piece of paper and followed their twin out the door, and, what Ky’ia first thought, out of Ky’ia’s short lived life.

Ky’ia was still holding that paper, sitting on the back porch. They could run, but they wouldn’t get far. They were expendable, and now a liability. The Morrows, Ky’ia had just started calling them Morrows, were on their side. Hisoka simply wanted what the twins wanted, and he was certainly scheming and plotting to keep them alive. It wouldn’t go far.

They opened it another time, and read what Nyx had written there.

**We can’t save you. Nox and Hisoka will try, but we have no reasons they will understand to keep you around. Sentimentality for someone who can’t even fight is not something they understand. So you have to fight and save yourself. I hope you figure it out.**

They folded it up again and stared out at the garden and forest beyond. Far off in the distance, they imagined could see the mountain, their home, just peeking over the tops of the trees. They couldn't, but it was a nice thought.

Receivers and givers did not fight. Their gifts were special, specific to the ancestors, and always created as a non combat ability. Ky’ia could argue that they could be used for information retrieval, but that felt wrong, and sick, using that specific hatsu, as they called it, meant only for compassion, to violently rip memories from the minds of the unwilling. If they ever made it home, the memories they tore from their victims would be consecrated with them and live on in the collective.

Little pieces of these … rapists … child rapists … souls would live on with their people. It would be a desecration. Ky’ia would refuse to be consecrated before they allowed that to happen.

It would be wrong.

The troupe would not understand that faith. That belief. To the outside world, their belief system was silly, _ uncivilized _. They could understand the memories living on, because that was Nen. The concept of the souls living on, in a collective, far above, in the heavens, was not substantial to others. They couldn’t appreciate that.

Ky’ia’s refusal would only cement their death, and yet, despite knowledge of how it went, they didn’t fear it.

They were simply not ready.

One could not simply devise a hatsu that existed independently of one’s abilities. Most people had two, three at the most.

Ky’ia had one. It was performed in various ways, of course, and had other names for each way performed, but ultimately they only had one.

They could not consecrate a body. That was done differently. Only givers had that ability.

If they did this, they would never be a giver. There was only so much they could do. They weren’t like the twins. They both had two together, and separately they each had two. They couldn’t perform their separate abilities while sharing spirit, and vice versa. Even they had their rules.

Ky’ia would rather give away their chance to be a giver than be dead.

Sending a prayer to their ancestors for forgiveness, they concentrated again, their spirit flickering and shaping into a point. They had been at it for an hour, and with every break, they asked for forgiveness again, for deviating from their path, for turning their gifts into a weapon.

They would not bring others’ memories into the afterlife. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t use the foundation blocks of their training and turn it into something else.

There was a presence approaching them from behind. Ky’ia was very perceptive. It was Chrollo. The hatsu died, and they remained sitting, waiting patiently for the back door to open into the garden. A long, long breath escaped their lips as the door creaked open, and then they unleashed this new, weak, quivering hatsu, praying that it would be enough.

Everything was white. Ky’ia faced Chrollo, their heart thudding in their chest as the two stood in a sea of white mist that smelt faintly of evergreen.

“The first thing they teach us is how to reach into someone’s mind,” Ky’ia said softly. Chrollo just stared at them, sizing them up, watching, waiting. This was a gamble. A risk. Ky’ia couldn’t not take it. “What you are seeing right now isn’t real. What you’re smelling, feeling, hearing. You are experiencing what I want you to experience. It isn’t very strong yet. It’s just the building block of what I learned when I was ten.”

Ky’ia steeled themselves, knowing that in an instant, if they did this wrong, Chrollo could steal this half baked ability for himself. Even so, they walked forward, and took Chrollo’s hand.

“The second thing they teach us is how to share what you call Nen, we call spirit. If you can share, you can take.”

And then, Ky’ia _ pulled _ . Through Gyo eyes, one could see Chrollo’s spirit drain away, into Ky’ia’s own, and Ky’ia stared up at him, communicating clearly through their dark brown eyes that they _ knew _Chrollo could still strike them down in an instant, kill them like an insect.

“What you are feeling is very real,” Ky’ia continued, softly, their heart pounding so hard they were _ sure _Chrollo could feel it. At the least, he could feel how clammy their hand was. This was a child, performing a trick for an adult who had been doing the same thing for decades. They both knew it. “I know I am very young to you. And I am. But I am a receiver. That means I have lived a thousand lives. You know exactly how it feels, and you know what it means. I have killed through other people’s eyes, died through other people’s eyes. I could show you, if you wanted. What it feels like to die.”

They couldn’t waver, they couldn’t break, but their mouth was painfully dry.

“I am at peace with death. I have done it a thousand times. But I’m not ready to die _ yet. _I’ve lived other people’s lives. I have never lived my own.” They could taste imaginary blood in their mouth. “So don’t kill me. Teach me.”

They shifted their grip, and Chrollo’s spirit flowed back to him. The mist cleared, and they were back on the porch. Ky’ia stared up at Chrollo, his wrist still trapped in their hand, searching for a sign in soulless black eyes. Chrollo stared back down at them, and silence stretched out, oppressive, murderous, weighing Ky’ia down.

They had never been so close to the earth since Phinks and Kalluto stole them and covered it up with an avalanche. And, in this moment, with their breath stuck somewhere between their lungs and throat, mortality had never felt so present.

The moment broke the second something akin to approval flickered in Chrollo’s eyes.

“You’re not cut out for my troupe. You can ask the twins to train you.” He broke the grip on his wrist easily, and breath finally escaped Ky’ia’s lips. “If my spiders want to join in, that is their concern, not mine.”

And with that, Chrollo walked away, and Ky’ia waited until they couldn’t feel him at all before they broke. Their back hit the wall of the manor and they slid down, shaking, unable to breathe, as the reality crashed in on them.

They had left the mountain and immediately signed themselves up for a war that didn’t even exist. They had almost died. Right then. And, dear gods, the fact that they almost died didn’t scare them.

It was the fact that all they could feel was _ relief _that they had finally got to experience it for themselves. Not even relief that they were alive. Relief that they wouldn’t be doomed to a life of living through the eyes of others.

It was terrifying. They had gotten a taste, and now they didn’t know what they would do. They were exclusively surrounded by murderers and thieves, and would be for months. What would they become?

Who they were meant to be was always clearly lined out. It was unbendable, unmoving. Ky’ia would be the only lyiana of their generation, would be a receiver, and then a giver, and then the spiritual leader of their clan. That was what it was meant to be.

That path was dancing away from them with every step they took, and they didn’t know what to do about it.

In the distance, a tree fell, and Ky’ia looked up, broken only for a moment from their impending identity crisis.

Who was fighting?

The who in question was Nox, letting Feitan know they had found him, with a single shadowy slice chopping down the tree next to his perch.

Feitan was almost disappointed. He had only lasted seventeen minutes. Nobunaga still had the hour and two minute record.

The man fluidly half fell, half leapt out of the tree and faced the two, who were, for once, not running to continue the game. They were both sweaty, their hair pulled into high ponytails, clad in spandex shorts and loose tees. They had probably caught him because his brain had short circuited for a moment when Nyx had managed to form a literal lance of shadow and send it hurtling towards Nox, who caught it like it was nothing and flung it back in the smoothest motion he had ever witnessed.

Or they had noticed him before and Nox was showing off.

He could tell from the lack of tension that they weren’t training all that hard. They were decent, he would allow that. On a combat level, they were fast, faster than most opponents, perhaps on the level of Zazan. Were they fighting with Nen, they could probably land a blow on him. Two, if they were lucky. Hisoka’s pride overshadowed their abilities. Perhaps they simply performed better when in an emotional rage. But, then again, this was a warm up.

Tolerating his presence, they both moved to their bag and withdrew some water bottles to take long swigs. They were paying attention to the manor. Chrollo had been talking with Shalnark for some time. Perhaps the discussion determined the fate of their friend, the little mountain one. Feitan had forgotten their name and had been calling them “little mountain” the second they walked through the door. He still hadn’t spoken to them.

Nyx checked their phone and bumped Nox’s arm with their elbow. They both smiled. They had yet to actually acknowledge Feitan. That was alright. They hadn’t run yet, so he assumed they would.

And just like that, Nox was approaching him, scrawling on their notepad.

**You caught me in a good mood. We can dance.**

“Is not really dance,” Feitan pointed out.

**Close enough. Take off your coat. Only weapons allowed are ours.**

Fair enough.

Feitan wasn’t certain why he was interested in Nox specifically. The twins seemed to function as a central unit, and the real gold mine to be found was how they worked together. He supposed it was called a crush. He did want to teach them to dance.

Interrogation was an art, but art could be found in many forms. He liked to get information out of people, and in the current absence of any people to violently extract it from, it seemed as though it had fallen to employ his interest by other means. However, too much effort was too much effort, and Nyx seemed to be a wall. The Morrows would ultimately give up all of the information they had on the operation to the troupe. There were secretive dealings going on left and right. One moment it was Chrollo, Hisoka, Machi, Shalnark, and the little mountain with the secrets. Then it was the Morrows, Chrollo, and Shalnark. Machi and the little mountain existed on the peripheral of that, as the twins seemed to like them enough to confide, but even Machi wasn’t certain entirely of why they were stalling.

Spies. Feitan had tortured plenty of them, and most cracked under pressure. These spies, however, could not be tortured, and it was interesting to see the threads going in every direction, to observe from a distance. From this, he could learn new ways to torture. It was ultimately about seeing through his victims’ eyes, after all.

Nox was the obvious choice to speak to. Hisoka knew Feitan too well, Nyx was too cold, the spiders were under gag orders, and the twins seemed likely to kill anyone who so much as bruised little mountain until Chrollo ordered them killed. He liked that they had enough sense to at least bow to Chrollo’s seniority and accept that little mountain would be a necessary casualty.

Feitan had many odd quirks. He liked that Nox had some, too. From his career as a thief, he could tell they had some skill as an artist. He could also tell that, while Nyx was more perceptive, Nox had a harder time seeing through his mask.

It wasn't that he _ didn't _ have a crush. It was just that crushes were more akin to predator and prey to Feitan. If someone caught his eye, he didn't pursue them as a mate, though he supposed most would. He caught them in his web. Lucky for Nox, they clearly did not like him enough to form a romantic attachment, and therefore they would not get their heart broken in Feitan's game. He typically just entertained his "crushes" until he understood enough to be bored.

And so Nox would be the object of his "affections" for the moment. It would be fun to see how his feelings would play out in the absence of mutual ones, because if he was certain of one thing, it was that the twins had too much baggage to even be capable of forming distracting romantic feelings. And even if they were, they had enough control and resolve to kill it before it started. _ That _he knew for sure. Nox was indeed worthy prey.

Their formation of feelings for little mountain were also an interesting study. He was fairly certain Nox was in a good mood because Chrollo had chosen to spare them. Lucky Feitan.

He wondered if the two liked little mountain because they had never had someone their own age to confide in. Kalluto was a bit too young for them to bond with, and everyone else in the troupe was in their mid to late twenties, with the exception of Nobunaga and Franklin. Feitan himself was 23, clocking in at third youngest, tied with Shalnark. No one had any clue how old Kotorpi was.

Friendship was strange to see outside of the troupe. Bonds were forged in so many strange ways.

A notepad was being thrusted at him again as he carefully leaned his umbrella against a tree.

**Did you specifically come without a shirt?**

“I never wear a shirt under my coat. There is no need.”

**I do not believe you. You read torture porn in public.**

“I do many things in public I should not. What of it?”

Nox sighed dramatically and gave up, backing up and clearing a spot with the point of their toe. They gestured at him once, and Feitan realized they were waiting for him to go into Zetsu. He could tell they weren’t _ really _in Zetsu. They seemed to use a modified version of it to allow whatever was going on with their pelvis to keep going. They probably couldn’t use In, so they likely could never completely cloak their presence. There would always be a telltale sign.

Useful knowledge to tuck away.

Nyx approached him now, holding out their own notepad for him to read.

**I will tell you one thing Machi and Shalnark have not told the troupe yet. Nox and I share pain, meaning half of whatever damage you inflict comes down on me. I don’t know why they want to do this dumb shit, and I don’t care, I’m just letting them do it anyway. But I will be pissed if you hit them too hard, because they are my sibling, and because it fucking hurts. Friendly sparring. If you break our arms, expect to deal with collective annoyance, because Machi can’t fix it.**

Look at that. He was already getting more knowledge before the rest of the troupe. This was a race, and he was going to win it, even if no one else knew they were running.

“Understood.”

He didn’t even really know why Nyx thought he’d level any substantial damage on Nox. Well, he knew why, but still. They were danchou’s guests. Why would he injure danchou’s guests?

He and Nox backed up to a reasonable distance and he let his air fall out, just watching them. Even, cool breathing. He wondered if they took after Hisoka, with tricks and games to keep their opponent distracted. Actually, how did Hisoka even train people? The thought was rather foreign. Hard, he supposed. Cruelly, maybe. Hisoka was preparing them for a cruel world.

He couldn’t focus on that. Instead, he waited for Nox to spring.

And Nox did. Their body tensed for even the briefest of moments, too fast to track, and then they flew at him.

As predicted, they were fast. In Zetsu, he couldn’t call on his full speed, and gods, he had forgotten what it felt like to spar in such a fashion. It actually came down to body, and body alone. He let them put him on the defensive, noting briefly Hisoka had not trained them in the same style he had been trained in. This was an unfamiliar one, deceptively fluid, but designed purely for punishment. Brutal, one could possibly call it, designed to get results fast, with no time for enjoyment or games. Made sense, given their task. Knees, elbows, flat handed punches designed to drive the cartilage of the bone directly into the brain. Feitan blocked them all easily, and then the game shifted as he went on the offensive.

It took only a few moments to realize Nox was testing the waters, seeing how much energy to put out, and the style they had been taught relied heavily on counter attacks. Defensive offense. Smart. For every blow Feitan attempted to deliver, his energy and weight was redirected and another attack was sent in, to be quickly parried. It was different, certainly, but he recognized the art in it, the dance Nox had alluded to. Their stance was continuously shifting, their footwork unpredictable, and Feitan realized that he was going to have to get serious.

He threw a punch. Nox’s arm rose, the hit glancing off, and their free hand came for the uppercut. Feitan moved fluidly, grabbing their wrist and twisting, spinning them around to put them in a hold. For a moment, his free hand grabbed Nox’s other wrist, forcing their arms to cross against their chest, but in an instant his mistake became relevant. Nox’s hips shifted, and they took control of their conjoined momentum to flip him over their shoulder. Feitan was too fast for that. He felt their arms tense, in a bid to escape, and before they got a chance to break the hold as his feet left the ground, he pushed their arms down with the very force Nox was exuding. So, instead of Feitan being flung onto his back by himself, he somehow managed to land on his back with Nox still pinned against his chest.

And there was the second mistake. Gravity yanked Nox’s head down with the impact, colliding solidly with Feitan’s nose, and immediately a river of blood gushed out.

The two froze and Feitan, belatedly, realized Nox didn’t weigh much at all, pinned there between his legs. His blood kept flowing, soaking Nox’s hair and the back of their neck. Their shampoo smelled nice, under all the sweat and blood, even if their hair was all up in his nose and mouth.

A guttural laugh broke the two from their moment and he released Nox, scrambling to his feet to pinch his nose shut.

Nyx approached them, ruefully rubbing the back of their head with one hand, the notepad offered in the other.

**You know, not sure who won that one.**

Nox snatched the notepad from their twin, wincing from the pain on their skull.

**I got first blood.**

“I gave myself first blood. With your head. It does not count,” Feitan grumbled.

Another laugh came out from the trees, and dear gods, of course Phinks snuck out here.

“You alright, buddy?” He asked jovially as he withdrew a small packet of Kleenex from his pocket and offered one to Feitan. 

“I am fine,” Feitan muttered darkly as he wiped at the blood with the gifted tissue and then ripped it in half to stuff up his nose.

“Never seen someone outside the troupe keep up with you like that,” Phinks teased, and Feitan frowned.

“I was in Zetsu. I have not fought in Zetsu for some time. They train in Zetsu daily. Of course I could not keep up.”

Phinks whistled lowly as he looked the twins up and down, and offered Nox another Kleenex to get the blood off their neck.

“Bet they could keep up with you with Nen, too.”

“They could not,” Feitan muttered darkly. Nox and Nyx both cocked a brow at the same time.

“Anyways, got sent out here to collect you. Danchou called a meeting. And you two have been ordered by Hisoka to get back, get showered, and get ready, cause y’all are going to town with Ky’ia. Meeting is spiders only.”

Oh. Little mountain was Ky’ia. Good to know. He liked little mountain better.

Nox and Nyx exchanged glances, seeming to have some private conversation with each other without a sign in site. Feitan needed to learn sign. There was only so much paper in the world. Nyx shrugged and headed to the duffle, easily hefting it up. Feitan finally gave it a glance before they zipped it up. They would have to spar with bokken next time, to avoid further humiliation.

In any case, he couldn’t wait to find out what Shalnark had learned, and he _ really _ could not wait for all these secrets to stop flying around. Then this strange obsession with the one who had just busted his nose in front of Phinks would end, like all of his obsessions, and he would move on to the next prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could absolutely picture Phinks carrying around Kleenex for Feitan having nosebleeds. Gratuitous head canon insertion.


	18. The Spider and the Limb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shalnark's discovery is revealed to the troupe, and they come to terms with what true betrayal means to them.

“What happened to you?”

Feitan still had blood all down his chest and neck. The twins swept past him and Phinks, making for the stairs, blood still all down the back of Nox’s shirt. Nobunaga’s head swiveled to follow their ascent and then he went to examine Feitan again.

“Feitan broke his nose with the back of Nox’s head,” Phinks supplied with a sly smile. “You wanna see?”

“Did you record it?” Feitan asked, alarmed.

“Yes. I came up maybe halfway through you sparring. Thought it’d be good to look back at how they fight someone that isn’t each other.” Phinks shrugged.

“Delete that footage.”

“Oh no. You humiliated yourself, and I’m gonna show  _ everyone.  _ I’m posting it in the group chat.” Phinks pulled out his phone and Feitan lunged for it, but Phinks danced out of reach, laughing loudly.

“Feitan, it’s  _ good  _ for them to know how they fight!”

“Then take new video!”

Phinks held the phone up, out of reach, his finger on the send button, and Feitan leapt to reach it. Too late. Phinks clicked send and dashed up the stairs, screaming in laughter as Feitan chased him. Chaos already.

Eventually, the video fully sent before Feitan got his hands on the phone, and he satisfied himself with a punch to Phinks’ gut before he left to go get cleaned up. Blood everywhere. He didn’t  _ mind  _ blood so much, but it was aggravating when it was his own.

He hadn’t even managed to draw Nox’s blood. Nyx and Nox’s blood, he corrected.

It was a good thing he did not intend for this blossoming obsession to last long. The sharing pain thing would be awkward. He didn’t have an incest kink, and generally found those that did were rather disgusting. That was saying something, coming from him, but his interests could also not be denied. In any case, given the fact that they were … used at some point in such a way, he knew for a fact that even though they claimed to put emotions over logic, they absolutely were more gratuitous in their murders when it came to people who were invested in twincest. Feitan was not someone capable of sympathy, but he could almost get there in regards to their victims.

He knew they came from a tribe, too. With a little digging, or asking Machi, he could probably find out which, and he was willing to bet that due to the name, which read like a fact of life, not a condition, it probably had some cultural significance. He could appreciate cultural significance. It was one of the reasons he did not like Hisoka, at first. Well, he also did not like Hisoka because he was Hisoka. The man should have gotten trigger warning tattooed on his forehead. But, no, when he caught small signs of his cultural martial art being used by someone so lacking in discipline, he just tacked that onto the list of reasons to hate him. Now, it had become apparent that Hisoka was likely the most disciplined person on this planet, so the hate was lessened significantly.

Hating Hisoka now was confusing. He supposed Hisoka had earned his respect. While the troupe had no need for “honor”, he could appreciate someone who did. Feitan knew exactly how Hisoka viewed him. Single minded, which was true, fanatically devoted to Chrollo, which was also true, could really only feel one thing at once, also true. That was why his “obsessions” never developed further than a passing fancy. For real feelings to blossom, there needed to be some level of complexity.

Feitan didn’t care much for that. So, Nox was only mildly interesting. He played it up, of course. The doe eyed puppy type he knew would make Nox pity him enough to let him stick around until he could come to a conclusion about them and then leave. If he played himself, Nox would have no time for him, and this would drag out longer than necessary. That much he was certain of. Nox very likely rarely ran into people that knew who and what they were that were genuinely smitten. After all, even if it was for good reasons, Nox was a killer. Nox was probably hesitant to indulge Feitan  _ because  _ of that fact, that they were a killer, and that was probably what Feitan liked about them. They likely planned on stopping the killing when they finally finished the job. Something with Feitan would never go anywhere, and it likely made them uncomfortable, that this was all that was interesting about them. That was alright, though.

Just because Feitan was single minded and rather simple, didn’t mean he was stupid.

He knew how to work people to get what he wanted.

He just could only typically focus on one thing at a time, and maybe spare time for things existing on the peripheral.

Perhaps that was why he was intrigued by the twins, and slightly intrigued by Hisoka. They didn’t get information like he did, mostly. They had to be focusing on all of the threads equally at once. If one was dropped, the tension dropped, and it all fell to pieces. They had the main goal, and were completely focused on that, but they saw it in a way Feitan had never had to see things before.

Perhaps he could learn something from them.

The shower water was going cold. The blood was all gone, so he stepped out and dried off. His nose was swollen. Grimacing to himself, he faced the mirror and make a V with his fingers to vigorously straighten it out. Multiple cracks and blossoming pain later, it was straight, and bleeding again. Toilet paper was stuffed before it became a problem. Nosebleeds always lasted  _ hours  _ with Feitan. Aggravating.

He had technically done it to himself. It being self inflicted was an easier thought than Nox actually managing to draw blood. He wouldn’t want to get angry, or trigger Pain Packer. Chrollo would be pissed if he wrecked the house.

Perhaps that was why they had insisted on Zetsu. They likely had done a lot of research, ever since Hisoka had joined the troupe.

His room was right above the garage. There was the noise of an engine being started, and there went the Morrows with their little friend.

The meeting would be starting soon.

Feitan pulled on fresh pants and a shirt and made for the door. In the group chat they were already voting on who had won the sparring match. Aggravating. Phinks shouldn’t have taken that video. Now he would have to deal with teasing.

Everyone was gathered in the drawing room. Feitan was the last to arrive, hair still wet and cringing at the giggles that erupted at his presence.

“How’s your nose, Fei?” Franklin asked loudly.

“My nose is fine.”

“Looks pretty swollen to me.”

“Pain is accepted.”

“What I wanna know,” Nobunaga butted in, “is why you didn’t just let them throw you.”

“They aimed for ground directly in front of them. Would not have had space to land on my feet.” Feitan shrugged. “They fight in way to end fight as quick as possible. Had to pretend it was real fight. In real fight, would have been in position for them to crush my skull.”

“But they weren’t going to do that,” Machi pointed out, and Feitan shrugged again.

“Practice is to instill discipline for real fights. So it was best to act like they would.”

“You’re trying to save face, but you still broke your own nose with someone else’s head.”

Feitan scowled darkly.

“Should we not start meeting?”

Phinks snickered from his corner and Feitan ignored him in favor of climbing into the window seat to crouch.

Chrollo was still silent. Shalnark was quiet, too. There was almost a cloud hanging on them. Feitan wondered what happened, why Hisoka had stalled for so long, what Shalnark had to do with it.

Shalnark opened his mouth and shut it before looking to Chrollo for help. Chrollo just stared back at him impassively, waiting for him to take the lead.

“What I am about to tell you all is going to be difficult,” Shalnark started to say. “I’m going to preface it with stating that before anyone gets angry, or defensive, I did my own independent research to make sure this information I was given wasn’t a lie. My research is airtight. I made sure of that. There is no room for error.”

The tension in the room shifted and Shalnark cleared his throat.

“When we were given some of the information on Meteor City that danchou requested, I could tell something was off about it. A lot of it was too easy. Like, I mean, we should have known it was all happening. From some of the image files, it was clear they were operating in broad daylight, sometimes when multiple spiders were in the city. They barely even tried to hide it. It didn’t make much sense. At first I thought the images were false, the information was wrong, and I made sure to run the images I had copied into my computer through software that let me see if any editing had been done. It came up blank. In addition, their movements basically tapered off after York New and the auction. I thought maybe Hisoka was attempting to stay away from the city, but then he could have sent the twins instead to gather intel.”

Feitan watched Shalnark critically. Shalnark was rarely ever nervous, but he looked like he was going to explode with tension. Chrollo was just watching him silently.

“I knew the Morrows had either very cleverly falsified information, or they were waiting for me to figure something out, which was why Hisoka was stalling. Either they were testing us to see if we could function on their level and not hinder them, or they had information that they could not tell us and we had to figure out independently. So I talked to Nyx, and they gave me enough clues that I was able to figure out that they had taken a page from Hisoka’s book in terms of Texture Surprise. They had written a code into the encryption on the software that made it so gyo files converted to jpeg when they were transferred to another memory core. I didn’t notice it first, and a file conversion can’t be picked up on the software I ran. Some of the files had been saved as gyo files.”

Feitan had never heard of a gyo file, but he was quick enough on the uptake to understand that it was clearly a file that hid something with Nen.

“It was actually pretty simple, simple enough to be overlooked. So I used Gyo and uh.”

Shalnark trailed off and looked again to danchou for help. Chrollo relented.

“Uvogin had been working with them,” Chrollo said shortly. There was a pregnant pause, and he seemed to decide to keep going before the room exploded. “Before Shalnark told me, he did independent research to back up the claims, make sure they weren’t false, into the bank accounts he had set up for Uvogin. I spoke to Hisoka before he left, and he confirmed that he knew we wouldn’t take the words at face value, and it seemed that the twins understood this as well without him having to communicate it, so they devised a way to show one person, Shalnark, knowing he would remain somewhat composed, and fact check them as a result. It would also seem that Uvogin procured rarities for the ring, and received payment directly from Edwin, which Shalnark confirmed with the routing numbers we have also received funds from. The Morrows had been trying to get his information for years in the hopes that some of his money would lead them to the leader, but thanks to Shalnark, were unable to. They took it as a two birds, one stone scenario. I overlooked the information. It isn’t false. Uvogin had been allowing the ring access to Meteor City for years.”

Everyone in the room looked as though they had been shot. Nobunaga looked almost close to heartbreak. He and Uvogin had been close, closer than most of the troupe, Feitan knew.

The troupe had changed things for Meteor City. The originals rarely formed emotional bonds, but the city mattered to them more than anything else. People were no longer stolen in the night. They had opened negotiations with the mafia to continue their supply with willing volunteers, adults and sometimes teenagers, who wanted to get out of town. The troupe protected very little, but they protected the city and each other, to a certain extent. To betray the city was to betray the troupe. And if danchou was saying Uvogin had betrayed the city, then …

“Rarities,” Feitan muttered, accidentally breaking the pause. “You said rarities. Like twins.”

Shalnark pursed his lips.

“That’s how I confirmed it. Uvogin had a large payout, double the normal amount, three days after the recorded massacre of the Gemini tribe. The twins hadn’t  _ stated  _ it, except to maybe Machi, after she had already figured out due to an agreement Chrollo struck with them, but they have the same genetic condition that runs in twins from that tribe.”

The troupe had massacred tribes before. That didn’t weigh very heavily on Feitan’s conscience. But, like Chrollo’s mantra, they always killed the children. Mercy killings, he supposed. They didn’t mercifully kill adults. No, they made them stand up and fight and go out in a blaze of glory. Children were different. There was no sense in forcing children to grow up and never have a chance at a normal life. It was the one rule the troupe lived by: always kill the children.

And here Uvogin was, not only not killing the children, but sending them off to pedophiles.

“Wait, what condition?” Phinks blurted. “That hip thing they have?”

“Pelvises,” Machi corrected. “It’s this condition they call sharing pain. Doctors call it damnum duas partes. If damage is dealt to one, it’s split in two so it’s shared equally with the other. That’s why their pelvises can’t heal. Any tiny shift causes more breakage. Hisoka taught them to walk and stabilize them using Nen. He’s actually rather intelligent, medically speaking. Surprisingly.”

Feitan could understand it now. Given his own proclivities, he could grasp how such a thing would be attractive to anyone with those certain fetishes. It was no wonder Hisoka was almost embarrassingly protective. He also understood that it was a double edged sword. It could save their lives, but also kill them both at once. It was likely that if one died, so did the other. A kind of bond like that really transcended just being siblings. He’d put his life in other troupe members’ hands before. Put it in Uvogin’s before, actually. Living with that sort of tension every day had to be nerve wracking.

“So, it is true?” Nobunaga asked, his eyes locked with danchou’s. Chrollo nodded once, just once. “If it’s all true, how can we trust them to not turn on us?”

“They will not,” Feitan piped up and all eyes shifted to him. “Uvogin is dead. They do not care. I talked to Nox. And Hisoka. They are focused. So long as we let them get close to what they want, they have no need for multiple grudges. Is waste of energy, and they do not waste energy.”

Feitan ended his statement with a shrug. He personally had no use for grudges, but he could understand how they were born, and why someone would hold onto them. Some people could only find peace through completion. He could respect that.

“Fact of the matter is, if it’s all true, then we ourselves broke our promise to our city, and we should probably use the resources we’re being offered to fix that. If they’re good enough to send Shalnark on a hunt for a week, to the point where he actually needed a hint, they’re good enough for me.” Franklin was speaking up now. Feitan had almost forgotten how smart he was in his simplicity.

“We didn’t give Uvogin permission to do what he did,” Nobunaga stated, his feathers ruffling a bit at the concept that this was a collective failure on their part.

“We didn’t have to,” Machi suddenly said, and her voice sounded robotic, as if she was repeating something someone had told her. “We gave him the power.”

The room fell silent at that, and Feitan returned his observations to danchou. He wasn’t saying anything, but there was the slightest hint of some ugly emotion on his face.

“Machi is right,” Chrollo said lowly. “We did fail the city, so we have to fix it.”

And that was that. Danchou had spoken, there was no need for coin tosses, everyone was in agreement. Feitan hoped Machi would check on Nobunaga. He was woefully unequipped for the task.

He wondered what the Morrows and Ky’ia were doing in town. To his knowledge, little mountain had never been shopping. Maybe they were getting them a phone.

Hopefully they weren’t getting into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narrator's voice: they did get into trouble.


	19. The Hunter and the Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka finds himself juggling multiple wrenches in his plan.

The twins were in the store with Ky’ia, trying to figure out clothing for them that were more than their single change of clothes and the mismatched pieces that had been lent to them from the twins. The twins were also figuring out more outfits for themselves, since they didn’t know when they’d be able to return to the bungalow, and picking out some pieces for Hisoka.

He wasn’t sure if he should be disturbed that they knew his sizes.

Hisoka was outside of the store, trying to figure out the particular problem he had been presented with.

The twins and him were gambling. So was Ky’ia, if their story of how Chrollo had decided not to kill them was any indication. Honestly that was rather impressive of them to do that. Perhaps Chrollo had spared them because he also found their ballsiness impressive. Had the circumstances been different, Hisoka would have considered them one of his fruit.

Hisoka was fairly certain the troupe would swing their way. The twins had acted in a way that was befitting of their training, reading the situation before it had even began. It was smart, to force them to come to their own conclusions, to isolate the variables to prevent an explosion. He didn’t even know they knew enough of Shalnark to know that he wouldn’t immediately react. Apparently, they actually had paid attention to his venting for once. He almost felt loved.

No, the main problem on his mind was one that had been hovering at the back for the past week: what was Kurapika doing, and would he show up to fuck it all up?

Kurapika and Hisoka had an understanding. Hisoka had recognized from the get go that Kurapika could in fact completely dismantle the troupe, and that threw a wrench in his plans. For one, Machi could be killed. For two, if the troupe was wiped out, he would never be able to get close enough to get a look at Uvogin’s finances. For three, again, if the troupe was wiped out, it would completely change the facet of a major supplier, and Hisoka did not want to start from scratch all over again.

Kurapika had not let him in on the plans. Hisoka had negotiated for a fight with Chrollo in the hopes that he could drive him off, or displace Chrollo enough to deter Kurapika at least until he got the information he needed. It had been a nightmare, really, balancing truths and falsities. He had to play that he was the Hisoka he presented and the Hisoka who he was when he was at home.

And then darling Kurapika had acted unpredictably and sealed Chrollo’s Nen. Hisoka still was unsure if he saw through him or not. Probably. Hisoka had been hilariously off his game, but Kurapika had also given him an out in a way. Chrollo wasn’t dead. Machi could forgive him. He hadn’t revealed the tidbit about Machi to Kurapika. No, Kurapika was unpredictable, and when Hisoka was dealing with unknown factors, those unknown factors did not need to know that he was not alone. The twins and him had to exist independently. They were the ace up his sleeve. Literally. He carried an ace on him at all times with a Texture Surprise picture hidden on the front of it. He had to, given Nyx’s habit of wiping his phone.

The problem was now that Chrollo’s Nen was back, and there was no way that Kurapika didn’t know that. For all he knew, Kurapika was hunting Chrollo now. And that was a nasty wrench he did not want to deal with in the slightest. If you could control a factor, you had to control it.

He had Kurapika’s number. He’d had it since York New auction. Kurapika hadn’t messaged him since that day, hadn’t spoken to him, and for that Hisoka was glad. He didn’t need an additional mess to deal with. He could sympathize with revenge. Really, he could. He just couldn’t have that revenge interrupt his plans. It was bad enough that Kurapika killed Uvogin. Hisoka had preferred him alive so he could do it himself, or the twins, but damn if Kurapika wasn’t a fireball of justice. He almost regretted speaking to him before Kurapika had met the troupe. Maybe in another universe it could have gone differently. (It did not.)

Kurapika, bless him, still believed in the justice system. Because of that naivete, Hisoka doubted that he would react well to Hisoka telling him that no, he could not hunt the troupe until Hisoka was done. Kurapika had asked him why he didn’t just take all of the evidence he had gathered to the relevant authorities, why he didn’t just work with the justice system, and Hisoka had laughed and laughed and asked Kurapika why he was working with the mafia if that was the case.

He hadn’t answered, because while Kurapika had seen death, had lost a lot, he hadn’t seen what Hisoka had. The twins had. That was why he put more faith in the troupe, why he had never brought Kurapika into the fold. They understood ugly in a way Kurapika simply couldn’t, and they understood the powers that be failing them in a way Kurapika couldn’t.

The troupe had survived so long because they were impossible to track, too powerful to catch, too mysterious to know.

Kurapika knew that. That’s why he took it upon himself to handle it, because everyone else was simply not good enough.

The ring was different. The ring had existed for so long because it had members in the highest echelons of society, who could simply buy their way to freedom. They were above the law, which was why Hisoka fully intended to dump every shred of evidence onto every hunter site the second the attacks launched. Once the people that had a license to kill knew, then the information would trickle down to the masses, scrubbed of any evidence of Nen.

They were above the law, but they weren’t above the people. They just thought it was one in the same.

Kurapika couldn’t understand that. He would have to see it, and Hisoka had already made enough people see. He didn’t want to ruin someone else.

And, so, he pulled out his phone to call.

It rang three times before Kurapika picked up.

“What do you want.”

“Darling, that was a rude opening. Should we start over?” Hisoka purred, activating every inch of charm he had.

“No. What do you want.”

“Well, to put it quite simply, I gave Chrollo back his Nen, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Kurapika did not sound happy. Expected.

“I’m calling because I have a teeny favor to ask of you.”

“No.”

“Kurapika, I didn’t even _ ask _yet,” Hisoka pouted, but on the other end, his face was deadpan.

“I know where favors go with you. No.”

Hisoka sighed and stretched, turning to put his back to the wall.

“Well, I’m going to ask anyways, before you hang up. Don’t hunt the troupe for a few months.”

Silence stretched across the line and Hisoka felt his heart hammer. He could _ not _have this wrench right now. He was too close.

“Why?”

“Well, to put it frankly, remember that little operation I had going?” _ The one you killed Uvogin over and completely fucked my plans. _“I have managed to negotiate their cooperation with it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I promise you, I am not lying. We’re reaching completion in a few months, and I needed muscle to finish.”

“You could have gone to the Hunter Association.”

“I could not.”

“Why not?”

“They’re in the Hunter Association. Besides, Shalnark is a Hunter.”

“What do you mean, they’re in the Association?”

“Darling, did you really think everyone in that group was a good person?”

Silence stretched out for a moment, and Hisoka recalled that Kurapika was rather intelligent. Maybe he was starting to understand. That would be a relief. He would be less of a thorn in his side then.

“I want proof they’re helping.”

“I can’t give you that.”

“Then I want in. To make sure they are not going to act like themselves.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“One, you took Chrollo’s Nen, and killed a member, which of course they are now aware of the reasons behind his death, but that’s irrelevant. Two, you are not cut out for this kind of work.”

“I am cut out for any kind of work.”

“No,” Hisoka said sharply. “You are not. This work will destroy you in a way you have never experienced. Your revenge is fine and all, but this requires a level of savagery you don’t possess, with no qualms about killing. You are not cut out for this, and when I’m done and you see the aftermath, you’re going to thank me.”

Ky’ia was also not cut out for this, but that was irrelevant. If they were lucky, Ky’ia wouldn’t be needed.

“What aftermath?”

“I’m going to dump everything. All of the evidence, to the public. It’s going to turn into a witch hunt for the stragglers. And when you see the evidence, you’re going to see the bigger picture. So, no, you’re not helping. The tension is thick enough as it is. I don’t need you in the midst. You’re like adding gasoline to a fire. So if you understand the importance of this, if you understand the gravity of the situation, you will stay away. When the evidence comes, then you can do as you please.”

Silence passed for a few minutes. Hisoka hoped he wouldn’t have to kill him. He was a good fruit, after all. A bit salty, but a good fruit.

“Fine.”

“Lovely. Thank you for your cooperation, Kurapika.”

And, with that, he hung up the phone, and turned to the biggest shock of his life.

Gon. Gon Freecs was staring at him like he had grown a third head. He apparently still did not have his Nen. Hisoka recalled, briefly, that he had ignored Illumi’s call to go interrupt Gon’s healing process. He wondered if Illumi was still mad at him. Probably.

“Why do you have Kurapika’s number?” Gon blurted. “What operation?”

A million and one scenarios rushed through Hisoka’s head, and about all of the easy ones ended with a Zodiac hunting down the troupe and Hisoka in the midst of all of this to kill them for murdering his son.

“And why are you dressed like that?”

What on _ earth _was Gon doing in this town? They were a day’s ride away from the ferry to Whale Island. Wasn’t he supposed to be training? Was he traveling and training?

Just then, the door to the shop opened, and out came the twins, bags in hands, who stopped short at the sight of Hisoka staring at a bug eyed fifteen year old.

“Uh, Hisoka?” Ky’ia asked and Hisoka made a split second decision, seizing Gon with a hand clapped over his mouth to drag him off to the car.

“Get in the car!” He called over his shoulder. How on _ earth _ was he going to explain this? Here he was, kidnapping the son of a legendary Hunter in _ plain daylight _and at this point Gon was a legendary Hunter himself.

Why was his entire life just averting one disaster just to steer directly into another?


	20. The Hunter and the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo is understandably irritated with the recent development. The twins have an even more irritating solution, and Hisoka has no idea why he's here.

The front doors slammed open and Chrollo heard yelling, kicking, screaming from all the way in his study. A long sigh escaped his lips and he stood.

Of course Hisoka couldn’t come back from his first real excursion out with the twins without a commotion. He must have kidnapped someone.

This entire week had been a nightmare. Hisoka had been just fine for the two, three conversations maybe he had spoken with Chrollo before the twins arrived, but after the pharmacy he had completely clammed up once again, effortlessly keeping their negotiations moving in circles, agreeing on one thing, making progress, then changing his mind again. The only definitive agreement Chrollo could get out of him was the agreement to not participate in missions outside of a bird's eye perspective, and  _ that  _ was only because he had gotten Hisoka flustered.

Hisoka was not letting him fluster him again. In fact, he was making Chrollo flustered, with the constant flirtations and the nimble dancing back when Chrollo deigned to react to them. He was acting differently in the aspect that he was refusing to do anything but act the same.

Hopefully, Shalnark solving the twins’ puzzle put an end to  _ that  _ behavior. Pacing out of the study, and down the stairs to the second floor, he realized that, no, Shalnark’s unraveling of the puzzle had only escalated things. Hisoka had only just  _ started  _ making problems for him.

He recognized this kid, and, with the new knowledge of who his father was, he really was not sure of what to make of this chaotic scene.

“Hisoka,” he said quietly, from the top of the staircase, “why do you have Gon Freecs stuffed under your arm?”

Ky’ia looked extremely worried. Nyx, as always, was entirely impassive. Nox was thoroughly amused. At least  _ someone  _ was. Hisoka simply looked put upon.

“Well, you see, it’s a funny story. He still doesn’t have Nen, so I didn’t sense him when I called Kurapika and he overheard.” Hisoka was flustered. He probably deserved it.

“You called the Chain User.” Hadn’t the troupe  _ just  _ decided to trust him? It didn’t take long for him to bite.

“Well, yes, I did, to negotiate a cease fire for a few months while we finish up here.”

Gon opened up his mouth to yell, or something, and Hisoka reacted instantly, slapping his free hand over Gon’s mouth to seal it with Bungee Gum.

“Why didn’t you do that before?”

“It’s hard to breathe with Bungee Gum on your mouth. I’ve tested it.”

Chrollo thought to ask why, and then decided that perhaps it was best to not have answers to certain questions.

“And he overheard you.”

“Yes. I don’t know why he was in town.”

“So, we need to kill him.”

Hisoka stared at him like he had just said the stupidest thing on the planet.

“Didn’t you tell me not everything can be solved by wrecking it?”

“This is killing someone. Not wrecking them.”

Ky’ia looked horrified at how casually Chrollo discussed it. Ah, good people. He forgot how easy it was to both disturb and kill them. Really, he should have.

“To be clear,” and there that singsong voice was coming back, “I  _ just  _ got the Chain User off our your backs, you’re welcome, by the way, and now you want to bring down a Zodiac on us.”

Ah. Right. Other people trying to kill them would be a problem this time around. Chrollo had forgotten to consider that.

“Do you have any other options?”

“I was honestly hoping you would have them.”

Chrollo could have blinked. Hisoka actually wanting him to have the options. Who would have thought the day would come?

“Ky’ia, couldn’t you do a memory break?”

“Yes, but people generally tend to break after.”

He supposed forcefully erasing memories would do that.

“That’s fine.”

“Yes, because Ging would absolutely not catch onto that,” Hisoka drawled and Nyx nudged his arm. Gon was turning red. With a sigh, Hisoka released the gum and seemed to brace himself for the incoming yelling.

“I don’t know what’s going on here but no one is killing me!”

“You have no Nen and no defenses,” Hisoka pointed out diplomatically. “We could kill you fairly easily, but, yes, you are correct for once, we aren’t going to do that.”

“Put me down!”

“Either you stay here or I stick you to a wall.”

Chrollo could see in his mind's eye Hisoka handling the twins having a temper fit in the same manner. Not bothering to keep his mask on was honestly an almost cute look for him.

“Then stick me to the wall! You smell weird!”

“Now you’re just going to stay here.”

The twins cackled and Nox signed something to Nyx. He  _ really  _ needed to focus on learning sign again. Gon flushed as they seemed to have some sort of conversation with each other.

“I’m not weird!”

That was actually the first time Chrollo had seen someone other than Hisoka know what they were saying. The twins paused, looked back at Gon, and then signed something else.

“Yeah, I know sign. There’s this super nice deaf family on the island who taught me so I could play with their son!”

Why did he talk like that? Did everything in his life require yelling? It was painful.

The twins shared a look, and he had seen them around enough that he  _ knew  _ that look. They had just decided something and apparently did not care enough to actually check that it was okay with everyone else. Nox paced in front of Gon to sign something else, and his eyes followed the rapidfire words with an almost practiced ease.

“Er, I guess. I don’t like lying, though.”

Nox snorted and signed something else and Chrollo tried to figure out just when and how this situation had gotten out of his hands.

“Oh, like once a week, sometimes every two weeks. He’s busy.”

Nox signed something else and jerked a thumb at Ky’ia, who looked like they were understanding something of what was going on. Fast learner, then. That was expected.

“I’m not learning anything from  _ them _ , though,” and here Gon jerked his chin at Chrollo, who was still trying to figure out just what was going on.

Nox signed something else and Hisoka cleared his throat loudly.

“Darlings, you can’t just go making decisions for everyone. Remember we have to work with everyone.”

Nox snorted and signed something else and Hisoka relented, letting Gon back down onto the ground.

“The twins have offered to help Gon regain his Nen and train with them, in return for his silence and the agreement that he stay here until they … give the go ahead for him to leave.” For the mission to end, he meant.

“So you want the son of Ging Freecs to know where my house is.” To be fair, all of it made  _ sense.  _ Chrollo understood convincing people to do what he wanted with sweets. Gon wanted to be stronger, the twins were running around with Hisoka, so even if he couldn’t see it, he knew they were strong, having a willing captive who was able to cover to Ging about his absence was preferred to the alternative, which would be the son Ging had just started speaking to dropping off of the face of the earth. Of course, knowing Ging, he really wouldn’t do much about that. He had just sat back during the Chimera Ant invasion and let his son take care of it, after all. And then refused to visit him in the hospital. But, on the off chance he got curious …

Chrollo had a feeling that through it all, he always knew exactly where Gon was, when Gon was there. Still shoddy parenting. Not that he was one to judge, of course.

“Well, Chrollo, I figured after all of this you would be moving, anyways. You always do, after an operation.” He had forgotten Hisoka was a stalkerish creep.

“It’s the principle of the thing.” How on  _ earth  _ was he going to explain this to the troupe? Nobunaga might be happy about it, he’d liked Gon, had practically hollered in laughter when it came out who Gon’s father was, but the rest of them? Coin tosses.

And Feitan was starting to like Nox, too. How ugly was it going to get when Nox found out he’d tried to break Gon’s arm and rip off his fingernails? That argument alone was not something he was certain his house would survive. The Morrows weren’t bound by troupe rules. He’d have to negotiate that with Hisoka.

“Do you  _ not  _ think this is a good solution?”

“I’m not keen on weaponizing a Hunter under my own roof.”

“Are you more keen on Ging paying you a visit?”

“Hey, my dad doesn’t help me with anything,” Gon piped up. “That would be rude. I gotta do it on my own.”

“Gon, we don’t have time to compare every person in this room’s fucked up normal meter,” Hisoka said mildly.

“What?”

“Never you mind. I’m sure you’ll discuss it with a therapist in ten years. Chrollo. Are we in agreement or no?”

It was a wonder the twins survived that scathing, subtle sarcasm. Chrollo could almost understand Nox’s attitude issue now.

“We are in agreement. If he steps a toe out of line, though, I kill him, and we all deal with the consequences, since  _ you  _ got us into this mess.” And with that, he turned to return to his study. “I have sent the troupe on missions to blow off steam before we get started. I’m sure that will give you all time to get all of your evidence back here.”

He could hear quiet footsteps up the stairs and Hisoka’s presence tailing him. That was new. Since Chrollo had taken him that night, Hisoka hadn’t followed him anywhere. Chrollo had to call for him, or go to him to summon him. For now, he ignored it, treading down the long hall to the second set of stairs and his waiting study.

“You know, Chrollo,” Hisoka finally said as Chrollo’s hand landed on the doorknob, “if I didn’t know better, I would say you’ve softened.”

Chrollo stilled, for just a split second, and his body reacted before his brain. Spinning, his coat flying behind him, he shoved Hisoka up against the wall, the jester’s hands pinned above his head. Hisoka looked down at him, unperturbed, waiting, and Chrollo realized this was in the interest of fairness. He had gotten rises out of Hisoka, possibly too many, and Hisoka needed that equivalence, that flash of emotion. It was no wonder he had been so distant this past week. Hisoka was, as he said, broken. A scared, hurting animal hissing at the world. A cat, really, if he was going to be specific.

Chrollo didn’t know how to show emotion. The closest he could get was power.

Hisoka was so warm.

Carefully, the minutes ticking past, Chrollo leaned up, close enough that if Hisoka just bent his head, he could kiss him.

“If I want something, Hisoka,” he breathed against his lips. They smelled faintly of papaya. A chapstick, likely. “I get it. How I get there doesn’t matter.”

Hisoka lived a life of denial. Chrollo wanted something to click. He wanted it desperately. But, it wouldn’t, and he knew that. Chrollo knew what Chrollo wanted in an instant most of the time. His focus didn’t waver. Hisoka had just accepted Chrollo into his truth, let Chrollo unravel ten years of secrets in the span of two weeks. Hisoka had let him take those secrets from him out of a sense of desperation, and Chrollo knew that. But he didn’t want Hisoka to turn to him in desperation, because he was there, because he was wanted.

He wanted Hisoka to turn to him because Hisoka knew he was wanted.

Odd revelations.

Hisoka would undoubtedly explain this away as Chrollo referring to vengeance for his city. That was fine. When he was ready to accept what he already knew, he would. Chrollo could wait.

He still hadn’t said anything. Chrollo waited, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

_ I’m softening because of you. Because this is what you have driven me to. _

_ I’m powerless, and you don’t even realize it. _

“My, my, Chrollo,” Hisoka said, and there was the mask again, slipping but still there, “I forgot you could play my game.”

Chrollo tightened his grip again, just so slightly, and then released Hisoka. Desire stirred, and he beat it back down. Time. It was just a matter of time. Chrollo could sustain the months it would take for them to finish, and then maybe Hisoka would allow himself to work past the live saving complex he had developed.

Chrollo would be waiting when he did. He rarely doubted himself, but Hisoka had caused enough doubt that Chrollo knew he would be coming back around.

“I have a pot of tea in the study,” he said as he pushed open the door. “Would you like some?”

He didn’t wait for the reply. He just left the door open and sat down to pour the tea into two cups. Hisoka had taken his time coming, time enough for Chrollo to prepare for the conversation that needed to happen. Feitan had let slip that Hisoka preferred milk hot chocolate, and it was a pity Nobunaga had forgotten the milk once again when he went for groceries. Chrollo would just have to go by himself.

In the meantime, Hisoka would have to be content with tea.

The Hisoka in question sat across the coffee table from him and proceeded to start dumping in sugar. An inordinate, almost sickening amount of sugar, actually.

“Jasmine. I pictured you as liking black,” Hisoka said smoothly as he stirred. Chrollo just watched his hands.

“I do. I assumed you would like jasmine.”

“I actually prefer herbal teas. Or coffee.”

“Which herbal teas?”

“Sleepytime. Tension tamer.”

That was almost a surprise. Chrollo himself preferred mint. He hadn’t thought Hisoka was the sort to like something from such a plain, accessible,  _ cheap  _ company. Hisoka was someone who liked expensive things.

Chrollo had never really developed feelings for someone before. In the grand scheme of things, he thought himself above them, and when feelings for Hisoka initially struck, he had been a little lost as to how to deal with them. He had even considered killing Hisoka that night in the car. He solved a lot of problems with murder, so he failed to see how it would be different then.

It was, in fact, he discovered, very different. It was the moment Hisoka said that he was going back in. Chrollo hadn’t actually considered it before that moment, that Hisoka would be going back in to don his mask, smile, preen for adoring eyes. And, something in Chrollo stirred, a resounding, roaring  _ no.  _ No, he could not stand by and watch.

Of course, he wasn’t going to just keep Hisoka locked away in the manor. That would be suicide. No, he would leave, he just wouldn’t go on more intelligence gathering missions. He just didn’t think Hisoka’s fragile mind needed to be put through more stress.

He was probably going to make everything worse, in hindsight. He was essentially depriving Hisoka of the one constant in the past ten years. It was like alcoholism, in a way. Yes, it was good to take it away, but once you did things got a lot worse before they got better. He was effectively taking away the alcohol right before a high stress period that would last several months.

On top of it, while Hisoka was being held from the fight, the twins would still be risking their lives. In the week following the declaration, Chrollo had tried to think of a way to ground them, too, but he had come up short. He couldn’t  _ force  _ anyone into anything in this situation. The Morrows had no loyalty to him as his spiders did, and the twins would most assuredly have a  _ very  _ different reaction than Hisoka if he tried to tell them what to do.

Hisoka would have to watch from the sidelines as the twins risked everything, while he stayed safe and sound behind Chrollo’s protections.

He would either adapt to the change on the cusp of his victory, or he would fall apart.

When he thought of how Hisoka had looked in that bath, lost, confused, close to tears, Chrollo couldn’t help but be willing to take that gamble.

And so he had reacted on instinct, when he heard Hisoka’s off hand remark. He’d never felt such a strong emotion when he slammed on the brakes. All he could think about was Hisoka’s declaration that he already won, and how devastated he looked to say it.

It was that moment that he realized he couldn’t kill him. That if he did, the emotions he was feeling would remain, would stay, nestled in his heart, aching, killing him in turn. He would simply run from committing to the living to committing to a ghost of what could have been.

So, he abandoned that thought process.

Killing truly didn’t solve everything. It could create more problems, problems Chrollo didn’t want to deal with, was unwilling to deal with for once.

So he would wait.

“Now that Shalnark has solved your puzzle, have you come to a decision?”

“Oh, yes. We came to that decision ages ago. It was just dependent on how the troupe reacted. I’m sure you sent them away so they could deal with whatever that revelation might have brought up.”

“I did. Feitan is still here. Somewhere. And Machi.”

“Because you trust them not to lose it with us?”

“They might lose it with you, but I think the twins and I are the appropriate buffer needed. What was the decision?”

Hisoka looked at him as if he was shocked Chrollo had to ask.

“Full disclosure, of course. We can’t complete this task if you all don’t know everything we do. Though, I doubt that you would memorize it all in time.”

“My members are fairly smart.”

“They don’t exactly have ededict memories. There is a lot of information. Though, with the addition of Gon, I worry the twins won’t be able to retrieve it all without leaving him here, and that would most  _ certainly  _ create some problems.”

“They’re all traveling right now. If you give us locations, they can get it.”

Hisoka cocked a brow.

“Very well. We have a bulk of the data at the bungalow, the primary amount we work with, as well as the work room where everything is spread out. Older data is in a storage unit in York New City, and the third location is the Royal Glam Hotel. There’s a vault underneath, which I  _ really  _ should not be telling you about, and they have been kind enough to allow me to store the remaining hard drives there.”

“So it’s all digitized?”

“Of course. If it was all on paper it would be a  _ nightmare  _ to move.”

“Aren’t you from Glam Gas Land?”

Hisoka took a long, rather obnoxious sip of tea and just stared at Chrollo. Ah. So that was not a question to be asked. Fine then.

He wanted to know, though. If Hisoka had been taken at five from Glam Gas Land, why was he so invested in stage magicians and the persona he exuded? It was unlikely he remembered anyone. Was he copying someone he knew from there, or from the circus? His abilities were based on … Well, Chrollo didn’t want to think about that, and some facets of his personality were explained, but the decision to be a murderous stage magician, specifically, was not.

“If you can give me the closest members’ numbers, I can have the twins text them with directions. Are you going to tell them now about Gon, or wait for them to find out?” So, back to the conversation at hand. Alright, then.

“They can find out when they get back,” Chrollo replied and finally took a sip of his own unsweetened tea.

“Then business is concluded for now, I suppose.”

“We still have a pot of tea to finish, do we not?”

Hisoka studied him, as if he was trying to figure him out. If it didn’t weigh so heavily on Chrollo, he would have found it amusing. Hisoka, being as smart as he was, so independent, so  _ Hisoka _ , a master of toying with minds, could not get past his own. If he could, they wouldn’t be doing this dance.

Chrollo was not one for declarations. He was one for reading people, and, again, Hisoka was not ready. That was fine, of course, but he had never really been so  _ frustrated  _ over what he could not control before.

“Did you really call off the Chain User?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Hisoka’s expression slipped into one that clearly said he thought he was looking at the stupidest person on the planet.

“Because his interference could endanger the entire structure of the plan.”

“So you are done playing games, then. Definitively.”

“Well, I’ll still have a  _ little  _ fun. You can’t begrudge me that.”

“Your fun gets people killed.”

“I will endeavor to ensure they are only critically injured.”

“How do you avoid keeping your … vices from injuring the twins?” It was a question Chrollo had been wanting to ask. He knew the answer, of course. He just wanted it confirmed. Hisoka stared at him, like he was trying to pick him to pieces.

“I care about them more than I care about myself and this mission. That’s how.”

So he was capable of love. The question he had avoided in the car, now answered for him.

“Then why do you let them do what they do?”

“Because, again, I care about them more than myself or this mission. They would do it anyways. They need closure, and I need to make everything happen to give them that.” Hisoka stopped, as if he was afraid he was going to say too much, like there was another thought on the tip of his tongue he didn’t want to spill out. Chrollo waited, waited for that trust to blossom in Hisoka, that trust Chrollo  _ craved  _ like he craved the belongings of others, that trust that could so easily evolve into faith.

Hisoka didn’t finish his thought, and Chrollo ignored the knife to his chest that came with that stop. Time. It would take time. He had three, perhaps four months to gain that faith he needed like air. Time.

“So you are.”

“Am what?”

“Capable of love. Like I asked you before.”

Hisoka looked a little stunned, and Chrollo indulged himself the thought he had refused himself, when Hisoka was high in his tub.

Hisoka was adorable.

No, beautiful.

Chrollo still loved beautiful things.

“Yes. I suppose I am.”

“Then we both are.”

Hisoka’s lips twitched and Chrollo found himself mesmerized.

“You know, I always feared that after all of this was over, I wouldn’t have anything left, because I didn’t know how.”

“And now?”

“If a man like you can understand what love is, whoever you hold it for, then I’m sure I can understand what a real life is.” Hisoka almost, almost smiled, and Chrollo’s eyes shone.

Soon, Hisoka would realize, soon he was going to show him what it was like.


	21. The Rock and The Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox seems to hate Gon. Feitan is a surprising factor in the why.

Gon really was not sure how to take any of this stuff going on. He was back, captured by the troupe. Ordinarily, he would have told them to screw off, but he had grown a lot in the past few years since he had seen the troupe. A lot. And he knew now, somewhat, not to plunge headlong into death.

He had also learned to pay attention when the unexpected happened. The twins, Nox and Nyx, were unexpected, and so was Ky’ia. Nox and Nyx smelled like Hisoka, stood like Hisoka, studied and gathered information like Hisoka. But they were not Hisoka, so he wondered how Hisoka had come to regard them with such … affection, he could tell.

Hisoka listened to them. Hisoka did not want to fight or kill them. Gon knew Hisoka was incapable of care, and so he wondered at what was going on here.

Ging had told him to enjoy the journey, and if the journey took him to Chrollo Lucilfer’s house, then so be it. Gon was someone that lived in the moment, listened to his gut even though everyone told him to not ignore his brain in favor of that, and his gut told him there was something to be learned here. So, when they offered, the answer was simple.

They could teach him Nen. He had no idea how powerful their Nen was, what they were capable of, but hey, they were capable of following around Hisoka. So they had to be good. And Hisoka had informed him, very aggressively, in the car that  _ no, _ they were absolutely  _ not  _ Spiders, and never  _ would  _ be Spiders. And the twins had laughed at him. Actually laughed at Hisoka Morrow, and he did nothing about it. So Gon knew he wasn’t training under Spiders, which was acceptable.

And then there was Ky’ia. Gentle, sweet, in a way. Gon had good instincts. He had to, really, considering how dull his brain was. Ky’ia was a good person, he could tell. No, not just good. A  _ better  _ person, with a very old soul, despite their youthful face. They seemed to know every secret, understand Hisoka and the twins on a very deep level. He knew, he just knew, there was something to learn there, too.

And so here he was. The day after it all. Sitting on the porch steps with Ky’ia. Ky’ia was practicing some hatsu Gon couldn’t see or hear. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, but Nyx was giving them commands. Increase, decrease, you wouldn’t want to get  _ caught,  _ would you, Ky’ia? Gon wondered if the hatsu was being directed at the twins, because they would both wince in time and rub at their heads before Nyx corrected Ky’ia again. He’d asked what was going on, but Nox signed at Gon to shut up and keep focusing on his nodes.

Gon wasn’t sure  _ why  _ they were making him do this. He had been doing the same thing for months, trying to feel for the nodes and open them. He couldn’t feel the way the Nen moved through his body anymore. When they had first been opened, it had been this explosion. He felt everything in a second, all crashing in on him, and it stayed like that until he got used to it. Gon had always felt powerful, until he met someone who that power paled against.

Like Pitou.

Questioning his power, his ability nowadays felt traumatizing. In a way, he was scared to start from the bottom all over again, and that infuriated him in ways he couldn’t comprehend. Fear helped some people think, make deliberate combat decisions that helped them come out on top. Gon didn’t know how to do that. He could never do anything in halves. He couldn’t win in halves. Making a logical decision based on fear required someone to evaluate whether they could lose and still stay alive. It made them accept the fact that loss was an option, and in Gon’s eyes, his “do nothing by halves” method of living loss was never an option.

Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t unlock his Nen. He knew the choice he had made, the choice to give up all of his Nen, every inch of life energy that he had, to defeat Pitou, and the concept of really  _ trying  _ only to discover that it was all gone was not something he could handle.

A hand tapped his shoulder and he looked up.

“ _ You aren’t trying. Why are we teaching you if you won’t try? _ ” Nox asked, staring down at him with judgmental eyes.

“I’m trying! It’s just nothing is working!” Gon insisted.

“ _ Why isn’t it working if you’re trying? _ ” 

“If I knew that it would be working!”

“ _ Tell me how you lost your Nen. _ ”

“You already know, don’t you?” Everyone did. He was practically a war hero at this point, and Nen that was uncomfortable. A hero who couldn’t fight.

“ _ I want to hear it from you. _ ”

“I made a contract. All of my Nen in exchange for the ability to kill my opponent.”

“ _ Why did you want to die to kill them? _ ”

The question stuck Gon in the heart, and every feeling started to well up.

“Because that was the only way to do it!”

Nox looked like they were judging him, and something about it rankled Gon. How dare this person, this stranger, really, judge Gon and what he’d done? How dare they dismiss the horror Gon had gone through, the loss he had endured? Rage welled up in his chest, and not one for bothering to censor his thoughts, he sprang to his feet.

“Why are you looking at me like that, huh?”

“ _ I have very little patience for people who throw away their childhoods and get angry at the consequences of adulthoods they knew they’d be ill equipped to handle, _ ” Nox signed.

“And what do you know?” Gon shouted. “You’re a kid, too! You threw away your childhood, too, didn’t you, to go chasing Hisoka?”

“ _ No. We didn’t throw away any childhood. We can pick up tomorrow.” _

Nox pushed right past Gon and made for the door, but Gon grabbed their wrist. What the hell were they talking about? Why were they  _ judging  _ him?

“How am I supposed to learn from you when you don’t even want to teach me?” Gon roared. Nox froze, and then broke his grip with effortless ease.

“ _ I do want to teach you. It is an easy solution to our problem. But I cannot teach you if you cannot learn. I suggest you think of a better answer. _ ”

The door slammed behind Nox, and Gon was left in the garden with Nyx and Ky’ia. Nyx was impassive and Ky’ia looked pained.

“ _ Nox has a temper. I apologize on their behalf. They’ll be fine tomorrow. _ ” Nyx signed.

“You apologizing for them isn’t a real apology!”

“ _ Yes it is. Any apology from Hisoka, me, or Nox on behalf of another acts as an apology. You skipped breakfast. You should go eat. You have run of the house. Just don’t try to leave. Feitan has extensive En, and you don’t want him to catch you before Nox or I do. _ ”

Gon hated this. He hated all of it. Last time he had encountered the troupe, he had Nen, and he was still terrified. This time, he had nothing, only the protection from Hisoka and his students and perhaps Chrollo. He didn’t like being protected, but his position put him in a place where he had to be. The Gon of a few years ago would have tried to run. The Gon of now knew better. Pride, though bitter, had to be swallowed.

The pride he could not swallow was the pride that prevented him from letting Ging know he was in trouble when they allowed him to call. He and Ging had fashioned an alert system. Gon just had to say he was eating a lot of something, and Ging would come. Gon had been shocked when Ging brought it forward, until Ging pointed out that Gon had no Nen, and it was clear from the election that very few people liked the infamous Hunter. And now everyone knew Gon was his son. Of course, it hadn’t been a secret before. It was just more widely known now, thanks to Leorio’s antics.

This was all so stupid. He didn’t even know what the “operation” was, or why Kurapika thought it so important that he was willing to leave the Spiders alone for a few months.

Maybe he could have Killua come get him. But, no, Killua had Alluka to care for. Gon didn’t want to infringe on that. He cared about Killua too much to put Alluka in danger. Who knew what the troupe would do with Something?

Granted, the troupe had to know about Something. Kalluto had joined. Killua had told him. But, then again, Kalluto probably prioritized their family and its secrets over the troupe. So they probably didn’t know.

Either way, Gon may have been an idiot, but he wasn’t enough of an idiot to risk it.

He just had to wait. If he felt really, really in danger, he would call Ging. In the meantime, he would just have to put up with his “teacher’s” attitude. It really was unfair that Ky’ia got Nyx. Nyx seemed calm, composed. They were probably an excellent teacher. Instead, Gon was stuck with the testy one who seemed to flip from a good mood to a raging one in a matter of moments.

Grumbling to himself, he realized Nyx did have a point. He’d missed breakfast. The twins had met him in the wee hours of dawn with protein shakes, but they had been too nasty for him to swallow down. Ky’ia seemed used to them. They had put almond meat in them, and Gon confessed that almonds in large quantities gave him an upset stomach, so they’d agreed on smoothies next time for the morning meal.

He didn’t know why they couldn’t just have eggs until Ky’ia whispered in his ear that they didn’t have tongues and the last time they tried to cook it had tasted terribly because they didn’t have many taste buds left, so it was best to just drink the shakes or get up even earlier to cook by yourself.

Why didn’t they have tongues, anyways? Hisoka seemed too fond of them for him to have taken them. Did it have to do with the operation?

Still in a bad mood, Gon banged into the kitchen, only to freeze at the sight of Feitan.

The two met eyes and Gon recalled, briefly, Feitan detailing how he would pull out his fingernails.

He also remembered bolting the last time he saw him. He couldn’t do that  _ again. _ It would be embarrassing.

So, they both stood there, staring at each other with wide eyes. Feitan was holding a knife. How could he make a plain kitchen knife so deadly?

“Did not like their shakes?” Feitan finally asked.

“Almonds upset my stomach,” Gon blurted.

Feitan blinked.

“Why is Nox being loud and mad?”

“They don’t like me.”

“They do not like me either. I have not made them so mad.”

“You must not be trying,” Gon said, before he could stop himself, and Feitan’s grip tightened on the knife. Bad move, Gon.

“Were you trying?”

“No.”

“What they say? They chased me off roof.”

“I’m not telling you that!” Gon flushed bright red and Feitan studied him like a bug. Gon wondered if he was going to crush him.

“Like apples?”

“What?”

“Do you like apples?”

“Yes.”

Feitan reached with his free hand and Gon tensed before he realized he was reaching for the apples in the fruit basket hanging over the sink.

“Come wash them.”

“I … Okay.”

Gon crept over to Feitan, who handed him two apples, and turned back to chopping plums. Gon hadn’t realized that was what he was doing.

“Nox likes fruit water. I noticed,” Feitan said shortly. “We eat. Then you take fruit water to help them calm down.”

“Are you helping me?” Gon was genuinely confused. Feitan stared at him even as expert fingers chopped the plums, carving out the pits without a glance.

“Nox is no good for talking in bad moods. You go get them out of it,” Feitan replied. “Water must infuse for ten minutes. We figure out what you did wrong, I help you fix it, then Nox is not so angry.”

“Why don’t you want Nox angry?” Gon couldn’t imagine Feitan caring if  _ anyone  _ was angry.

“Because I do not.”

Gon stared at Feitan for a good ten seconds as the water ran over his hands, trying to figure out just what was going on there. Troupe members liked troupe members and sometimes prospective members. Feitan liked Nox. Nox was not a troupe member, nor a prospective one. Was this a…?

“Do you have a …” Gon’s head caught up to his mouth and he stopped himself  _ right  _ there. Feitan gave him a glare from the pits of hell and Gon realized he had not applied the brakes fast enough. “I’m sorry!”

Feitan turned his attention back to the plums, apparently satisfied with how terrified Gon had looked at that moment.

“Is Nox …” Gon trailed off, his brain trying to process this, because he had  _ definitely  _ been right, “violent?”

“What do you mean by violent?”

“Like you,” Gon blurted and then color rushed to his cheeks, knowing what he had implied.

Feitan was silent, the plums all without their pits as he readjusted to slicing them. Gon set the washed apples next to him and waited for the reply, hoping that it was coming.

“All people are violent in other ways,” Feitan finally said. “You, me, Nox.”

“I don’t get it.” He really didn’t. Feitan sighed.

“You worry you will learn under someone that kills for pleasure, yes? And that will influence you, hm?”

Yes. Yes that was  _ exactly  _ Gon’s worry. He would ask Nox himself, but he’d have to settle with Feitan. Feitan seemed to be the type to study and understand.

“Yes.”

“You have killed someone,” Feitan said shortly. “Why?”

“To avenge my friend,” Gon said, his temper starting to flare up, but fear of Feitan with a knife kept him in check.

“Vengeance, yes. Does the dead care once they are dead for vengeance?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“So why must we do it?”

“To honor their memory, of course!” Gon was not good at this.

“Does more death honor death?”

“I …”

“To many, no, it does not. So what is honor to the dead? Is it honor to ourselves, or them?”

Gon was single minded, much like Feitan. He could not feel many things at once. Right now, he felt something coming, an ugly emotion building, but he didn’t know what it was. It made him want to cry.

“I don’t know.”

“To kill to honor the dead is to give yourself closure.” The plum slices and juices were deftly brushed to the side with the flat of the blade. “To feel as though it is done, so they might move in peace, though you do not know if you will. It is to make yourself feel better. Is that not pleasure?”

Gon didn’t want to think about this. He had never wanted to think about this, and the fact that Feitan was forcing him to was horrific, because at the back of it all, Feitan scared him more than anyone, and he couldn’t just run away.

“I … I guess.”

“Then, yes. Nox does kill for pleasure. With Nyx. And Hisoka.”

“To honor the dead?” Gon was trying so, so hard to figure this all out.

“To have closure, and to avenge the living,” Feitan corrected and lifted a hand to point at the cabinet. “Nox’s bottle is blue one.”

Gon reached up to take down the strange looking bottle with some sort of compartment, and Feitan unscrewed the bottom to take out the compartment and fill it with fruit slices.

“You understand, yes?”

“No. What living? What closure?”

“So you understand enough,” Feitan clarified, and Gon let out a huff of air.

He knew what Feitan was saying. Judge all you want, but you’re no better than anyone else, so just calm down and accept it. That everyone kills for pleasure, one way or another.

“If you think everyone kills for pleasure, then how do you explain why so many people hate you more than anyone else that kills?”

Feitan sighed, as if he was explaining something to a child.

“Care. Nox is not like me. That is what you were really asking, yes? We are similar, but different, because Nox kills with care. I do not care.”

“You care enough to want Nox to not be upset,” Gon pointed out, and now  _ he  _ felt like he was explaining something to a child. “So you care about  _ some  _ things.”

Feitan gave him another glare from the depths of hell, and Gon sank back.

“I choose when to care. Nox cannot, like Nyx and Hisoka. That is why I care.” Feitan opened the fridge to pull out a pitcher of cold filtered water and fill the bottle to the top before screwing on the lid and setting it in the door to marinate.

“Why can you choose to care but not them?”

Feitan let the door swing shut and Gon realized he was making him actually  _ think.  _ That felt nice.

“Life is shitty. Everyone is wired different. I have lucky wiring. They have lucky wiring, but it is different wiring from me.”

“How is their wiring different?”

Feitan shrugged.

“I do not break. Hisoka is like them. They can break, and do break, but they do not stop moving anyways. They are indestructible in new way.”

“So that’s why you like Nox?”

“Is why I  _ study  _ Nox,” Feitan corrected with a glare. Yeah, okay. Gon realized, briefly, that Feitan was a human, just like him. A twisted and heavily fucked human, sure, but a human.

Fucked. Ha. Ging had hung up on him when he first said the word, and called him back ten minutes later to cuss him out.

“They said I ran into adulthood and didn’t want to accept the consequences,” Gon muttered, finally. Feitan had probably “studied” Nox enough to be able to fix Nox’s temper fit, at least.

“Ah. Yes. It would upset them,” Feitan said with a hum and washed a third apple, having only used one for the water. He handed Gon it and took a bite of his own. “They had hard life. It is hard for them to accept that someone had a choice.”

“I mean, I guessed they would. They run around with Hisoka. I just don’t get it.”

“Mmm. They had experience like Chain User, but with more things.”

“Huh?”

“Their clan died and they were … taken somewhere bad when it happened. It took them years to get out of bad place. Is how Hisoka met them. He saved them. Sort of.”

“Hisoka saved them?”

“Hisoka is complicated person. Is why you’re alive. Danchou likes complicated, sometimes.”

Blissfully, the statement went  _ right  _ over Gon’s head, or he would’ve had a headache for days trying to figure out how  _ that  _ happened.

“You can’t tell me more?”

“No. I cannot.” Another crunch of the apple, and Feitan fixed his gaze out the window, to where Nyx and Ky’ia were still working on that invisible hatsu. “Mmm. Ky’ia is getting better at that.”

“What is Ky’ia doing? I can’t see it.”

“New hatsu based on their old one. Is a very sneaky one. They make people see … mmm, no …” Feitan muttered something in a foreign language, brows furrowed as if he was trying to find a word, “experience, yes. Experience what they want them to. Is a very delicate hatsu. Too much pressure will give victim headache, too little makes it easy to see through. If Nyx keeps training them, they will be able to do it on many people at once. Do not want to be involved in  _ that  _ training session, no.”

Gon’s eyes widened. Even as young and unexperienced still as he was, that was actually a very malicious hatsu.

“They … didn’t seem the type,” he said weakly. He thought he’d find comfort in Ky’ia. Apparently not.

Feitan glanced at him.

“What type?”

“The uh …”

“Sneaky?”

“Cruel.”

Feitan tilted his head, considering it.

“NGL must have been very hard if you immediately think  _ that _ ,” he commented. “Most hatsu are not  _ bad.  _ Is just how you use them that is bad. Your hatsu, rock, paper, scissor, yes? With much power, could rip someone right in half. That could be bad.”

“Or beat their head in until it’s nothing but brain matter and blood all over your hands and body.”

Gon said it. He knew he had said it. Ging had danced around it, pried, pulled back. Gon hadn’t known if it was for his own benefit that he was being so cautious, or Ging’s. There was some degree of guilt in Ging, he knew. Everyone said Ging should have apologized to  _ him.  _ He didn’t see any of it as Ging’s fault, though.

Feitan hadn’t responded, and Gon realized he had told Feitan, the killer, the torturer, something he hadn’t even told his own father. His own best friend he couldn’t speak of it to, and Killua had been right there. He’d broken Killua’s heart that day, and he knew it. Killua needed Gon to be good so he could find good in himself, and Gon had failed him on a massive scale. The break had been needed. NGL had made them borderline codependent, Ging said. Breaks were good.

“Many times,” Feitan finally said, “adults help children because they know children will do it anyways, on their own, and die. Is why the twins are here. But sometimes, often, adults miscalculate, and make mistakes. Does not mean children are not responsible. Just means failure often is a domino, I think is called.”

“Domino effect,” Gon said softly. A gentle correction Feitan did not seem to mind.

“You are not very much child anymore,” Feitan said with a hum. “I remember you. I wanted to hurt you. To show you that you are child that needed to go home.”

“How old were you when you did that?”

“Mmm … Twenty, maybe. I think same age Hisoka was, when he found twins. Maybe twenty one. Not sure. When was York New auction?”

“Three years ago.”

“Then, yes, twenty. Maybe nineteen. I think feelings about it start at that age, when you want to stop children from being stupid.”

Gon had been pretty stupid, in retrospect. He wasn’t sure if it made Feitan more terrifying or less, knowing he’d been acting on some weird protective instinct.

It was hard to believe the twins were only three years older than him.

“Would you have?”

“Yes. Lessons are painful when you play with fire.”

More terrifying, then.

“You decided to play in wildfire, yes.”

“And you didn’t?” Gon  _ hated  _ patronizing.

“I decided to  _ be  _ fire instead.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

A weird, unsettling smile twisted Feitan’s lips.

“Heroes are not heroes without villain. They are just people, yes?”

_ That  _ was a weird way to look at it. Gon could understand, but he didn’t like it. The thought that he  _ needed  _ these people to keep going, the fact that the life he had chosen wouldn’t exist without them. The fact that he himself would not exist without them. After all, who knew who Ging would have become if he never ran into adversity with a fist and some time to waste? Would he have ever met the woman who carried Gon whose name Gon still didn’t know?

Even after everything, Gon wouldn’t change his life for anything. He simply couldn’t imagine spending his days as a fisherman on Whale Island.

He really should have just become a Gourmet Hunter. It was a pity he could barely figure out how anything other than salt and pepper worked.

“You’re still fucked up,” Gon blurted. Feitan stared at him, as if he couldn’t believe he had the nerve.

“So are you.”

“Am not!”

Gon didn’t like this feeling. The feeling that he could  _ understand  _ someone so different than him, on some level. If you understood something, you could become it. He didn’t like it.

He just had to decide to not become the fire.


	22. The Nodes and the Dam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox and Gon have a conversation about Nen.

Gon snuck out to the roof, cold water bottle in hand. Feitan had instructed him to go to the library and climb out onto the roof via the balcony, as the only other way to get onto the roof was through the window to Machi’s room, and no one wanted to do that.

Gon was very good at apologies. In fact, he excelled at them. Being self aware to the degree that he was, he had to be good at them. People make mistakes.

In this instance, though, he felt Nox owed _ him _an apology. They seemed to have some kind of unresolved baggage, and Gon didn’t like it when that kind of baggage was taken out on him.

Nox was sketching furiously. Deep, dark strokes across the piece of paper before them, seeming to not know what they were drawing. It was some sort of ugly mass, red sharpie cut through dramatically as if Nox wanted to slash it out.

It was a long way down to the ground. Gon wasn’t sure he should have come up here.

The die was cast. No backing down now.

Making sure his steps were loud, Gon approached the black haired twin and sat down next to them. Their marks on the paper didn’t stop. As a peace offering, Gon slid over the water bottle to sit next to Nox, and they finally stilled.

“_ Talked to Feitan? _”

“Yes,” Gon admitted and looked out across the forest. He liked the forest, picking out each bird and insect as they spoke. It provided him with a sense of accomplishment, in some ways, that he knew so much. “He was a mess to talk to, but he told me you have a hard life.”

Have, not had. Gon could see clearly that whatever had made the twins the way they were wasn’t over yet. He wondered if it had made Hisoka what he was, too.

Nox’s hands were silent, but they were also still. They didn’t move from the paper, charcoal stick grasped so tight it could break.

“I dunno what made you bitter,” Gon said. “I don’t care. But I don’t regret leaving Whale Island. There’s a lot of things I _ do _regret, but I don’t regret leaving. If I did, it would have all been pointless.”

“_ What would be pointless? _” Ah, so Nox was finally speaking. Gon turned to look at them, right in those sad, angry eyes.

“The journey,” he replied fiercely. “The friends I made along the way. I was in over my head. A lot of people tried to stop me, and I didn’t listen. But I don’t regret it. Because all of the trauma and pain and all of that bad stuff that happened was _ worth it. _ If Killua hadn’t met me, he would have stayed home. If Kurapika hadn’t met Leorio, he wouldn’t have thought he could have a life outside of the eyes. If I hadn’t met Bisky, I wouldn’t have realized that hard work doesn’t have to be about _ winning, _ just enjoying the process. And if I hadn’t met Ging, I wouldn’t have known after NGL that it was never about me and _ my _ pain, but my friends and _ their _ happiness. And that I can’t just throw my life away because my life is important to _ them _, too. So I don’t regret it. You may be right, that I was rushing to adulthood and mad at the consequences, and I dunno what happened to you that made you so mad, but my life is mine and your life is yours, so if you don’t judge me without knowing me, I won’t judge you without knowing you. Deal?”

Nox stared at him like he had grown a third head and then tilted back their head to laugh, long and loud.

“_ Gon, _ ” they signed, “ _ you just answered the question. _”

“Huh?”

“_ The question. The reason I asked was because you need to know what drives you. What drives you is seeing other people happy. _”

“Yeah, so what?”

“_ Gon, you idiot, Nen is life energy. You have been trying to force it, but to you the most important part is the journey, not the destination. That is a different kind of look on life. You can’t access your Nen because before you were just punching through to use it. You don’t know how to approach it gently. _”

“Gently?” Gon echoed and Nox sighed, finally setting down their sketchbook and charcoal to move to face Gon.

“_ Give me your hands. _”

Hesitantly, Gon reached out his hands and Nox took them. Silence passed for a moment as Nox closed their eyes, and then Gon felt it.

He hadn’t felt Nen in months. It was a bit of a shock to the system, to feel Nox’s as Nox lent him theirs. It ebbed at the surface, just circulating in his hands. Gon was familiar enough to recognize it as moving in a circle, giving some to Gon before it went back to Nox to be replenished, and then back around again. Nox pulled back after they were sure Gon felt it.

“_ Nen is a river in everyone’s bodies. Nyx and I share Nen, because water is meant to be shared. We feed each other. We can exist independently, but we choose to share. Mostly choose. Anyways. I just shared some with you. Could you feel the current? _”

“I … Yes.” It had felt like he dipped his hands in a cool creek. He hadn’t realized those that didn’t have Nen could feel anything but Ren. Wait. Was that Ren?

“_ You are trying to break the dam with a tsunami. You need to sit and breathe and break it with cracks. Understand? Gentle, unyielding pressure over time, not a crash and boil. You already crashed. Your body won’t let you do it again. _”

Gon almost understood. Almost.

“How do I do that?”

“_ The journey is the most important part, yes? No one else can tell you how it will go? _”

“Uh …”

Nox sighed again, as if they were beset upon by the world’s loudest fly.

“_ I see you are not good with metaphors. I can’t tell you. You have to figure it out for yourself. _”

“But aren’t you supposed to teach me?” This was the worst teacher ever.

“_ I am. I am teaching you to understand Nen in a way that is personal to you. I am not you. I can guide you to the door, I can’t open it. So you need to learn how to focus the Nen in your body to act as rivulets. It takes concentration. Careful execution. You need to know your own body better than you know every insect in this forest. I can’t tell you how to do that. No one can. _”

Nox stood up and shoved their art supplies back into their backpack.

“_I CAN tell you that for the foreseeable future you WILL be meditating with earplugs. You will only listen to your own heartbeat. No distractions._ _We begin the real training tomorrow. You’d best get a good night’s sleep._”

And, with that, Nox slung their backpack over one shoulder and made their way back to the opposite edge of the roof to slip down to the balcony, leaving Gon alone and flabbergasted.

Screw that. He was going to start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% going to flat out admit to including Gon because I desperately want to write out his healing journey. That is the primary reason he's here and I am not ashamed for shoehorning in characters for personal satisfaction.


	23. The Lover and the Plot

Hisoka didn’t know how to slow down. In the aftermath of him agreeing to Chrollo’s terms, he realized that he had a problem.

He had never not been doing this. The only times he took breaks was for the twins’ health and training. Chrollo demanding Hisoka remain in the manor off the front lines, off of recon, off of missions, was doomed to backfire.

Of course, he  _ could  _ leave. He could very well leave and go back to Heaven’s Arena to pass the time. He could also train the twins some more, though they didn’t need his guidance anymore, and wasn’t  _ that  _ revelation a knife to the chest? Realistically, they didn’t need him at all, and the thought hurt a little. He didn’t just want to be wanted. He needed to be needed. No one else in the world needed him, and no one else really wanted him, with the exception of perhaps …

No, that would not do to think about. He had promised himself not to think about it until it was all over, after all.

It was in part pride that was compelling him to stay at the manor. The twins had their first students after all, even if both had been kidnapped to get there. It was a big deal in Hisoka’s eyes, watching Nyx in the backyard with Ky’ia, making the little mountain stop and start over and over again. Nyx probably had a headache now.

He couldn’t understand why Chrollo wanted him to stay out of it. Hisoka felt like he was being toyed with, and the very concept was deeply unsettling. It was not so long ago, when Hisoka’s secrets were still Hisoka’s, that Hisoka was the one toying with Chrollo. The thought set a knot in his stomach. Chrollo was not one for retribution, he knew, but it felt like this was a lead up to something deeply sadistic.

The twins had faith the troupe would see them through, but Hisoka did not share that faith. He was entrusting his life’s work to Chrollo Lucilfer. It was simply inconceivable that Chrollo wouldn’t turn to bite. But what other choice did Hisoka have? Leave the troupe with his secrets, the  _ twins’  _ secrets, without any way to monitor them, and pray they had enough honor to respect their task?

Honor?

The Phantom Troupe?

They didn’t know what it was.

Of course Hisoka  _ liked  _ them. There was no denying that he liked them. They were a mismatched band of misfits, stupidly overpowered and merciless to their core. In another life, he could have been like them. In another life, he and the twins could be just like them. Deciding to be the wildfire, not the tempered, controlled heat. He could see how very easily he and the twins could slip, could form into the very thing they ran from. Uncaring of those too weak to defend themselves, unwilling to do anything to protect anyone that wasn’t theirs. Viewing life as no more important than a stack of bills.

Perhaps part of the reason he stayed was because he didn’t want the twins to become too influenced. The twins rarely were able to bond with anyone, and that was something Hisoka deeply regretted. They only had Hisoka, and he  _ knew  _ how dangerously codependent they were. Hisoka leaned on them, they leaned back. As old as their souls were, they were still children to him. They lacked a lot of experience in anything that wasn’t immediately pertaining to their jobs. He could already see how Feitan followed Nox whenever he got the chance, watching, waiting.

Nox thought themselves wise in the ways of the heart, but Feitan would drop Nox like an old glove as soon as he got his fill. Nox could get hurt.

Or, worse, Feitan would not get bored, and Nox would let Feitan influence them in ways Hisoka didn’t want to deal with.

After this was all over, Hisoka knew what his path would become. It would be the one he had stepped onto. Death, destruction, mayhem. Damage sometimes was irreparable, and he would never become the good person he once thought he could be. Killing, manipulating, lying … That was who he was. The burden he bore. He knew what would happen when this all ended. The burden would become a relief. A familiarity, and that was not something he could change. He could play at it, of course. Put on another mask to temper the madness. But that would simply be another mask, a new one, and Hisoka was still Hisoka.

At his heart, he was still selfish.

He didn’t want to wear a mask anymore.

But he still hoped to do something to spare Nox and Nyx from that fate, and instead he had led them into a lion’s den.

Worse, he worried that as Feitan may influence Nox, Ky’ia would influence Nyx. He knew them better than he knew himself. Nyx’s eyes were always cold, heartless, but when they had looked at Ky’ia when they handed them that note, whatever it was that saved Ky’ia’s life, those cold eyes were burning with faith.

Faith, as Chrollo had noted, could very easily lead to love.

And if Ky’ia influenced Nyx as Feitan may influence Nox, the two polarizing personalities that grew could very well result in a schism.

Hisoka had never considered that before, that the twins could be separated. The twins could fight in a way that never saved their relationship. Could Nox do it again? Choose Nyx over themselves again? Could Nyx choose Nox over themselves?

The thought was unbearable. He couldn’t imagine a world where the twins  _ weren’t  _ together, where they may be separated by love for others.

Realistically, he knew he was being dramatic. First loves rarely made it to the finish line. They were held near and dear to your heart, and ultimately given up, because you rarely knew what you needed your first time around. Both relationships, that hadn’t even formed yet, would likely end in fire and brimstone and broken hearts. Feitan and Nox at the least.

He hoped Feitan grew bored with Nox.

Hisoka didn’t know how to advise them on this. He had once loved someone, but that love had ended in him choosing the mission over himself, and killing his lover when he learned his secret. It was that act that had cemented his fate in a way.

He had never spoken of it. And would never speak of it. He couldn’t advise them on this one. It would only lead to his path, and Hisoka had to walk that one alone. If the twins joined him, it would kill him. And them. But mostly him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever managed to sneak up on you before.”

Chrollo’s voice broke Hisoka’s internal monologue and Hisoka stiffened at the window.

“Relish it, because it won’t happen again,” Hisoka promised and Chrollo hummed as he took his place beside him.

“Watching them?”

“Ky’ia has good Nen control, but they can’t figure out how to properly apply it,” Hisoka stated.

“It is a delicate hatsu. Must be hard to make it elaborate.”

“Why did you not kill them?” Hisoka blurted. The question had weighed heavily on his mind, the why of it all. He didn’t like not understanding an ally that could so easily turn.

Chrollo didn’t reply. Hisoka knew he could have crushed Ky’ia like a bug, spared himself the additional distraction and potential enemy in his house. It would have been easy, just one blow.

“They reminded me of someone,” Chrollo finally admitted. “Someone I regretted killing. So I didn’t.”

“You don’t seem the type.”

“I suppose not. I rarely regret killing anyone.”

“Who was it?”

Chrollo didn’t reply again. Hisoka needed another angle.

“Why did they remind you of them?”

“It’s not often someone can stare in the face of death, know they’re powerless, and say no, anyways. I respect that in a person.”

“And what do you respect in me?” The question slipped out, unbidden, and Hisoka felt for a moment like a blushing schoolgirl trying to figure out if her crush liked her or not. What strange behavior.

“Who said I respected anything about you?” Ah, so now  _ Chrollo  _ was dodging answers. Interesting. Hisoka needed to stay away lest he learn anything else.

“You do respect me.” Hisoka didn’t know if that was true. Chrollo respected virtually nothing. But it felt right to say.

Chrollo seemed to be searching for an answer. Or waiting to see if Hisoka would squirm, Hisoka wasn’t sure. He would be waiting a long time if the latter was the case. Hisoka only squirmed in sexual glee, thank you kindly, and he looked damn good when he did it.

“You know by the world’s standards you’re a broken man, and you don’t care. You do what you want, when you want, regardless of the fact. I’m not sure anyone but a broken man could do what you’ve done. So I respect that.”

“So you respect that you can’t break me,” Hisoka supplied and something dangerously close to a smile quirked at the corners of Chrollo’s lips.

“I wouldn’t say that. I can break you. I would just have to do it in a way you can’t refuse.”

“Prove it, then,” Hisoka purred. Chrollo thought they could fight, then? Hisoka had always been a little suicidal.

“Maybe someday,” Chrollo promised, and looked at Hisoka in a strange way. It could almost be akin to how Hisoka looked at prey who could kill him. Predatory, hungry.

Something stirred in Hisoka and he licked his lips.

“Why not now?”

“You and I are both unprepared,” Chrollo said shortly and the moment broke. The strange expression on his face vanished and he made for the door.

Hisoka blinked for a moment. What on earth did  _ that  _ mean?

Chrollo, meanwhile, was stalking down the hallway, cursing himself for being too forward.

_ Break him?  _ What had possessed him to threaten Hisoka so sexually?

It wasn’t that Chrollo didn’t want to, in part, break Hisoka. He had just planned to move slower than this. Hisoka was, as he had observed, an injured cat. The slightest sign would make him shy away from Chrollo, and Chrollo always got what he wanted. This time, though, he couldn’t get it through violence. 

It would be easy, he knew that. It would be so easy to break Hisoka, to overpower him, to mold him into a mindless plaything. It would really just take the slightest tap. Hisoka was a conglomeration of broken pieces haphazardly fit together, and if Chrollo found the pressure point to make it all come crashing down, he could make him his. Through force. Through violence.

The twins, likely. He could easily arrange and manipulate Hisoka into a situation where he killed the twins. It would be easy to crush him after that, to dominate his will, take over his mind. If Chrollo killed them, Hisoka would simply die himself trying to kill him. It wouldn’t do.

He knew how to do it.

He just didn’t want Hisoka that way. A broken plaything. Because he wouldn’t truly own Hisoka that way, body and soul. He would just hold the shell of what was left.

Chrollo  _ wanted.  _ He had never wanted like this before. Beautiful things had always attracted him, like a moth to flame, but Hisoka wasn’t beautiful. Hisoka was ugly, twisted, a farce of a man, a beast with a heart too large for his chest to hold. A confusing mismatched disaster of pieces and faces and gone beyond the point of recognition and Chrollo  _ loved it. _

He loved it.

He had scarcely come to know who Hisoka truly was for two weeks now and he adored every facet of him.

He didn’t want the shell.

That being said, he still wanted to make Hisoka dissolve into a quivering mess in his bed.

The question that was weighing heavily on his mind now was how did he make Hisoka love him? He understood how Hisoka had come to love the twins. He saw potential in them. In the end, everything about Hisoka was about potential. He saw potential in them, and he saw resolve, and in that he placed his faith. His faith that they wouldn’t die and leave him alone. That, Chrollo could tell, had evolved into Hisoka accepting that while they could die, he couldn’t, simply because he did not want them to live with the fear he did. The fear of loneliness. The fear that once you lost what you loved, you would become a beast.

Chrollo could give Hisoka the faith that he wouldn’t die and leave him alone, but ultimately the relationship he craved with Hisoka was very different from the relationship Hisoka had with the twins. Hisoka was selfless in a way with his love for his younger siblings. He needed someone to be selfless for him.

Chrollo didn’t have that in his programming.

Of course, he could accept his death without question, the idea that the Spider would live on. That wasn’t the issue. He would lay his life down for the Spider if it came to it, and had before. He knew he could do that, but on some level, he understood that that willingness to die was born out of an unwillingness to lose.

Death was the ultimate punishment. No punishment was a punishment if you refused to accept it as such. If you did not accept death as a punishment, but as a victory, then you never lost. You were, eternally, the victor.

It was a relatively simple way of understanding it.

But, even in death, he was selfish.

Even Chrollo knew it was selfish to never show remorse, to never make amends.

That was why he was doing this now, with the troupe. Taking back  _ his  _ city. Burning the ring down in a cataclysm.

But, ultimately, he was powerless in fully making amends, in washing the blood from his hands. So was Hisoka, in a way. Hisoka had killed indiscriminately to get where he wanted. Hundreds of innocent people had died at his hands in order to preserve his carefully crafted persona.

Chrollo froze at the door of the library as he realized the answer to the question he had been agonizing over for weeks.

Of course.

What Hisoka  _ needed  _ was someone who accepted him as the beast he had forged in blood and flame. In the end, he needed exactly what everyone else needed in love: understanding.

He likely hid a great many things from the twins. Chrollo was willing to bet there were a lot of horrid deeds Hisoka had done that he never told them about, things he wanted to protect them from, things he couldn’t tell that man Klaus. Because Klaus was a good man, a kind man, likely kept around to provide some sort of anchor to normalcy for the twins. He doubted Hisoka had revealed anything to anyone else.

He could reveal them to Chrollo because Chrollo was the beast Hisoka was likely hellbent on preventing the twins from becoming. Chrollo could see their potential, their quiet thirst for blood that not even Hisoka saw, or perhaps refused to. Hisoka had dialed his bloodlust back  _ for  _ the twins. Chrollo saw it the moment he saw the three of them in the library with Hisoka. The murderous intent in his aura was muted, visibly, intentionally. It wasn’t just that he was comfortable with them, or that they soothed his beast, because when he had been watching Nyx train Ky’ia, it was there, like it always was. When Nyx wasn’t watching.

Stupid man.

As if they didn’t know.

Silly, fanciful, self sacrificing man. He was lying to himself. The twins were already on their path to hell. He couldn’t save them.

Perhaps that was another way to break him. To show him that even though they only killed when necessary, only killed the lowest of the low, their path was set, and he had shown them the way, and he was deluding himself into thinking he hadn’t.

Perhaps Hisoka saw them as his redemption.

Chrollo wasn’t a man for redemption. He would show Hisoka that it wasn’t necessary. If Hisoka wanted to kill every villain in the world sans the Spider, Chrollo would show him the way. He would teach him to just let go and let himself enjoy it.

When the mission was over, certainly. Hisoka was too fragile right now to even attempt such a thing.

His plan forming, like strands of spider silk, Chrollo entered the library.

Yes, he would break Hisoka. Or, more accurately, he would break the cocoon Hisoka had cloaked himself in to avoid facing the reality of his situation, of his choices. He was going to set him free.

And he would do it gently, kindly, with compassion. Or whatever he could find in himself that was close. Because when Hisoka realized that his redemption was never going to be what he thought it was, he would spiral out of control, and Chrollo couldn’t trust him to find the hand that was outstretched to grasp. He would need a net, and Chrollo would need to secure it in place so he could find where he was meant to land.

With Chrollo.


	24. The Movie and The Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Ky'ia enjoy a movie moments before a new mission is announced.

Nyx liked Ky’ia. In the week they had gotten to know them, they found Ky’ia to be interesting. Nyx was all hard edges, jaded against the world and willing to see the bad in everyone before they deigned to notice the good. That kind of thinking was in part due to the fact that because of the nature of their life, their existence, they couldn’t really grow close to anyone outside of their immediate circle: Klaus, Hisoka, and Nox.

Klaus was a good person. It took some pressure from him for Nyx to accept that. He was kind, driven, compassionate, obsessed with his work, compelled by a drive to make everything  _ better  _ for people. He didn’t like the kind of work the Morrows did. He viewed the three of them as something akin to traumatized child soldiers, and while he was  _ right _ , it took a failed justice system for him to understand why what they did was necessary.

When Trask had all charges dropped, to be exact. The twins killed him a month later. Nyx had worried that Klaus would break when Trask walked out of the courtroom and the media exploded into a frenzy, trying to determine just  _ how  _ it had been decided there wasn’t sufficient evidence when it was all right there.

No amount of evidence would trump a boatload of money.

When Klaus had cried, frustrated and lost, because his proximity to the Morrows had made it so much more personal, Nyx had realized that perhaps genuinely good people did exist, and you didn’t always have to be a terrible person to get the job done.

After that, Nyx had found a strange urge to know more good people. Kind people. They liked the idea of someone not being forced into being a bad person because of the environment they found themselves in. Klaus had come from a good home, middle class, comfortable, with a lot of options available to him that the twins had never had. The twins had only ever had Hisoka. At first, Nyx had resented him for it, didn’t want to cooperate. And then Nox pointed out that there was no point to what they were doing if people wouldn’t  _ have  _ the options Klaus had. The end goal was to make an example so big the world would be shaken to the point where they were never able to let something like that happen again.

So children would have a chance to grow up and become people like Klaus.

Klaus had not seen horror like the twins, hadn’t experienced the worst in humanity like them. He had seen some of the aftermath, of course. That was unavoidable in his line of work. But he hadn’t ever experienced it, and that was why he was able to be so good. Because he was sheltered.

So, Ky’ia interested them as a result of that understanding of goodness.

Ky’ia had lived hundreds, perhaps thousands of life. It only took a day, they told Nyx once, to retain the memories of someone that lived to eighty five. A day. People that died young took even less time. They had started their training at age ten, so the scope of their understanding was colossal, even being seventeen almost eighteen. And they had most certainly seen the worst of humanity. Their people had a long history, and long histories were always fraught with bloodshed. The reason they were so reclusive was because they had come to the understanding that humanity would  _ never  _ learn, that violence would continue until it fell, and reasoning always fell flat because people were infinitely complex. Nyx had already started them on hand to hand combat training, and it was painfully clear that, yes, Ky’ia had lived the life of a warrior at one point or another. Perhaps multiple times, because any attempt to teach them a clear stance or martial art type resulted in confusion when Ky’ia got mixed up and mashed the wrong things together to end up on the ground again.

Ky’ia had seen bloodshed and pain and loss and death. They’d experienced it, in fact. Many, many times. Each life, they told Nyx, was received to the very end, the very last moments. To do otherwise would be a disrespect, even if the people died badly, honorless, terrified, and scared.

To be a receiver, they told Nyx, was to understand, to accept everything the dead had to give them, and to love them in spite of it. To be a receiver was to be a beacon of empathy and love and forgiveness.

Nyx wasn’t sure how to cope with that.

It had been a week since the troupe had left on their respective missions, and Nyx was still confused.

Ky’ia was training well, of course. They had the fundamentals of Nen down to a T, it was only a matter of getting them combat ready, for what, Nyx didn’t know. They weren’t sure Ky’ia was someone that could ever engage in real combat, kill someone. Of course, they knew how. There was no doubt that they knew how. But the reason they knew how was because they were meant to forgive killers in spite of it, to understand them, not be them.

Their hatsu was more suited to covert operations, anyways.

Nyx also was confused about their own reactions to Ky’ia, from even before they had taken them on to train. Something about Ky’ia’s gentle spirit had given Nyx such  _ faith.  _ Faith that gentleness could be a force to be reckoned with, that an easy acceptance that death was natural, normal, but a refusal to believe that it was their time could be the most powerful tool on the planet.

They envied Ky’ia, in a way. Nyx could very easily accept their own death, of course. But they could not accept Nox’s as a result, and Nox felt the same way. And neither could accept Hisoka’s spiral in the aftermath. They wanted peace with the duality of their existence. The fear and acceptance. Because death did terrify Nyx. Them accepting their own death would be accepting that as a result, they would effectively murder Nox. Death was very often out of the hands of those that passed. When it came, Nyx knew they could not control the outcome. And yet the two still had sworn they would die together, die in a blaze of glory, because that was how it was meant to be.

That didn’t erase the feeling that no matter what, they would not have tried hard enough, and so in effect, they would have murdered Nox. And yet they couldn’t let go, because ultimately if Nox was to be the one that died, which was far more likely, Nyx had every intention of dying with them.

Nyx very often did not entertain emotions. Dwelling on what you could not change only served to upset yourself, and when you were upset you were distracted. They couldn’t even recall the last time they had cried. Perhaps the day Hisoka picked them up from the rubble. Nox cried enough for both of them, of course.

And so Ky’ia confused them on that point, too. They were young, but so old. They had a mind of their own, a steady acceptance of themselves and their own capabilities, knowledgeable of their own limitations, but able to pace themselves appropriately to overcome them. In the week of their training, their steady nature had enabled them to only give Nyx and Nox headaches on rare occasions. They were methodical, mastering control of their ability at one power level entirely before they moved to the next. Nyx scarcely had to guide them for their unnamed hatsu. On a surface level, they appeared to be very much like Nyx. Dismissive of emotions in the face of adversity, capable of ignoring them to get the job done.

And yet …

And yet here they were, sitting next to Nyx on their bed, late at night while Nox was busy playing whatever weird game they had going on with Feitan, watching this movie with wide, compassionate eyes.

Nyx never turned themselves off. They rarely felt anything more than on the surface level, with the exception of emotions related to their immediate inner circle. This was how it was, to shut off your emotions. They understood that from the moment they put Trask down like a dog. You consolidated. Strong emotions could only be applied in specific situations, and anything else was off limits.

They thought that of Ky’ia, too. That Ky’ia simply switched it off, but had somehow managed to remain kind, unlike Nyx. They thought the kindness of Ky’ia was the only thing setting them apart from Nyx, and yet here they were.

Crying over an animated film they had never seen, bright tears with their hands clasped over their mouth. Nyx was honestly paying more attention to them than the actual movie. The spectacle was far more interesting.

There was a light on in the corner, enough for Ky’ia to read what they wrote. They were coming along in sign, but it had only been a week, and could understand basic training related commands at best. At least they didn’t have to re-understand grammar; they had already informed Nyx the grammar was very similar to their mother tongue.

**Why are you crying? ** Nyx wasn’t actually sure what to do. When Nox cried, it was fairly simple. Go make some hot cocoa, throw in some rum Hisoka thought they didn’t drink and would yell at them for doing so if they got caught, and sit with them until they calmed down. Were you supposed to comfort someone over a movie?

Ky’ia looked down at the tablet with blurry eyes and smiled through their trembling lips.

“Because it’s beautiful,” they said earnestly.

Nyx was taken aback. Yes, the art in the movie was beautiful. It was a favorite of Nox’s, all soft pastels and warm undertones. Nox had once declared it to have a “top tier color palette”, whatever that meant.

**The art?**

Ky’ia laughed. Laughed right in Nyx’s face, but Nyx couldn’t find the time to be offended.

“No. Well. Yes. I’ve never seen a movie before, but I think it’s beautiful. I mean the story.”

Nyx blinked. It was a sad story, about a man with a dream of creating airships so people could experience the heavens, but his dream was cut short by a war, and his beautiful designs had to be reimagined for death and destruction. In the midst of it all, his wife, a woman he had rescued at the beginning of the bombs dropping, fell dreadfully ill, and at the end she died in his arms after the war ended, while he was flying with her in the sky. She had wanted to die in the heavens, and he designed the airship expressly to be as beautiful as she deserved.

Ky’ia had seen many sad endings, though, with real people. Real lives. Nyx was fairly certain they had seen many bittersweet endings to a lifelong love.

**Haven’t you seen many endings like this?**

“Of course,” Ky’ia said and wiped at the tears on their cheeks. “Why?”

**If you have seen many endings like this, why do you cry?**

Ky’ia tilted their head as they read it, and then smiled at Nyx. Nyx felt something flutter in their chest.

“True beauty is not something you ever get bored with. And besides. It’s nice to know in the outside world, some people do still understand death.”

**I’m not sure I follow.**

Ky’ia laughed again, and Nyx, for once, did not feel like the smartest person in the room.

“The people that made this movie. They understood that death can be sad, but that beautiful people deserve beautiful, peaceful deaths. And you don’t have to be sad when you go. She was happy, wasn’t she?”

**I’m not sure a person’s physical attractiveness rates in how well they should die.**

Ky’ia looked at Nyx like they were the loveliest thing in the world, and Nyx felt an odd sensation: warmth on their cheeks.

“I’m not talking about how attractive someone is. I’m talking about their soul, Nyx.”

**I’m not sure a person can have a beautiful soul. Everyone is good and bad in their own ways.**

“Just because art is art doesn’t mean it has to be pretty, right? It just has to be honest. Souls are who people are. Not all of them are ‘pretty’. Some of them are horrid. But even the most tormented ones can be beautiful, I think.” Ky’ia did not have a poker face except when under life threatening pressure, and Nyx kind of wished they were under life threatening pressure right then, because the way they were looking at Nyx was making color rise to their cheeks.

Nyx was not someone that got ruffled, or thrown off their guard.

They were certainly not someone that blushed.

Seconds stretched into centuries as Nyx stared into Ky’ia’s deep, compassionate brown eyes. Unbidden, their lips parted, and they were seized by this urge to see how soft Ky’ia’s were.

Nyx had never kissed anyone before. Not really. There were many forced ones, but since they were twelve, the thought had never occurred to them that they may enjoy it. Nox, being Nox, had loved the idea of one day kissing someone, just to see how it was, but Nox was always painfully aware of what the two had chosen to miss out on in favor of their own brand of justice. Nyx let them dream for the both of them.

It had honestly never occurred to them that they could, in fact, dream on their own.

Nyx leaned forward, only slightly, but a knock at the door broke the moment. Nyx sprang away, as if burned, and Ky’ia startled. They almost looked … disappointed?

Not waiting for a reply, Hisoka opened the door to survey the scene. He raised an eyebrow and Nyx looked away guiltily. They’d been caught, and Hisoka seemed amused at the fact.

“Nyx. Where is Nox?”

“ _ Don’t know. Avoiding Feitan, probably. Why is everyone here a stalker? _ ”

“... Are you watching Rising Wind again?”

“ _ I wanted to show it to Ky’ia. They’ve never seen a movie. _ ”

“Mmm. Well, start getting your bags together. Nobunaga caught wind of a laundering operation in Myoto on his job, but didn’t have time to chase them down while transporting the Glam Gas hard drives.”

“ _ Myoto? Nox won’t be happy. _ ”

“Nox is rarely happy with anything. You’re going with Phinks.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Nox and Nyx had never,  _ never  _ teamed up with someone for a mission. They operated perfectly on their own, and Nyx had been certain that even with the team up, that would continue.

Hisoka raised a brow at the brief flit of distaste across Nyx’s face.

“Nyx, darling, what have I told you?”

“ _ Actions have consequences _ ,” Nyx signed begrudgingly after a pregnant pause while Hisoka patiently waited for the reply.

“Do try to keep Nox from losing their temper with Phinks. It is a long drive, after all.”

“ _ A mission with a language barrier to boot will be virtually impossible. _ ”

“Then isn’t it  _ lovely  _ that you are my man that makes things possible?”

With that, Hisoka swept out of the room, leaving Nyx steaming.

First of all, they knew exactly what this was. Hisoka was forcing them into a team up to make sure the troupe understood they would all be operating together, and there needed to be a sense of camaraderie despite the barriers in place. After all, three to four months was an impossible amount of time for anyone to become more than a novice at a language. It had taken Hisoka a year alone to be proficient in sign, and that year was spent living with them and learning  _ with  _ them. For a good six months he had barred himself from speaking in anything but sign to become fluent. It had worked, of course, but that was after he had built a base from the ground up. They didn’t have that kind of time, and couldn’t always write on something.

Chrollo, perhaps, could become intermediate. He had revealed that he had a standard base for sign, but had left it unused for years. But Chrollo also had genius level intellect, Nyx was fairly sure. Everything he saw he soaked in, and Nyx was convinced he had an eidetic memory. Machi, of course, was trying, too, and Nox had caught Feitan on a number of occasions watching educational videos on it.

But the fact of the matter was, when handling delicate operations, a language barrier could throw everything into disarray. There shouldn’t be additional risks. Nox and Nyx wouldn’t have time to just go and write everything down when giving Phinks commands, or communicate with him, when in the middle of trying to not die. The two of them scarcely even signed when on missions. They had merely trained together to the point where they didn’t  _ need  _ to communicate.

Hisoka was trusting them to make a point here. That even with a massive language barrier that could not be overcome in the short time they had together, they could all work together seamlessly, or figure out a way to sidestep it.

It was a two day drive to Myoto. Whatever was going on with the laundering, they would have to examine the details and figure out how to solve this problem. Why they had to go with  _ Phinks,  _ Nyx had no clue. He was smart, yes, and dependable, perhaps the most dependable member of the troupe. And he was close with everyone, affectionate, knowledgeable of their likes and dislikes, able to read a situation and react fairly quickly.

He also carried Kleenex for Feitan’s apparently notorious nosebleeds. Nyx had learned after that the slightest pressure could trigger one, as well as stress, and anger.

Something about that knowledge made Nyx settle down. It would be fine.

“You’re going on a mission?”

Nyx had almost forgotten Ky’ia was here, sitting on their bed. Nyx turned and gave Ky’ia a rare, crooked smile.

**Yeah. I should be back in a few days.**

“... With Phinks?”

Nox and Nyx had very vigorously sequestered Ky’ia from the troupe the second they arrived. After all, Nyx had a soft spot for Ky’ia, and therefore Nox had a soft spot, and so it made sense to keep Ky’ia away from these legitimately terrible human beings. That also meant Ky’ia didn’t know much of them outside of their time with Kalluto, or their kidnapping from the mountain.

**Yes, ** they scrawled on the tablet.  **It’ll be fine.**

“...” Ky’ia looked like they wanted to say something. Nyx wasn’t sure they had the bravery to let them do it.

**We do these all the time. It’ll likely just be observation and tracking where the money goes. No violence.**

“You’re very good at this, aren’t you?” Ky’ia’s brows were furrowed. Nyx wanted to reach to smooth out that line. They’d get wrinkles.

**At operations? Yes.**

“No. At reassuring people that you’ll be fine.”

Nyx’s heart fell a little. Yes, yes they were good at it.

**I do it every day. I’ve never been wrong. You should believe me.**

“I should have faith you’ll be back to train me?”

Another crooked smile twitched at Nyx’s lips.

**I’ve never not followed through on a mission. I think you’re a wonderful mission. The best one yet.**

It was true. Ky’ia was a delight to share space with.

“The best one?” Ky’ia’s expressive eyes were swimming with emotion. Nyx wanted to drown in them, in a way.

**Yes. The best.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is mostly finished, so I'm upping uploads to three times a week so I can get it out quickly but not drown you all with a complete dump. There may be a two week hiatus in the distant future for last minute editing and polishing, but I hope the readers I have now will stick along for the ride!


	25. The Gardens and The Artists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phinks sets out with the twins for Myoto and works through his own quiet reflections on possible outcomes.

Phinks liked the twins. He still didn’t like Hisoka.

So, when Chrollo had told him the second he pulled up to the manor, fresh off a new burglary and still trying to come to terms with new revelations, that he was going to be going on a mission with the twins, he felt fairly certain that they could handle it.

It was just recon in Myoto. Myoto was a cesspool in his opinion. A luxury getaway for the rich and richer, there was no bigger monopoly on lies and deceit. It was worse than Glam Gas. It was a city set in the mountains, as close to the heavens as it could get, originally founded due to the hot springs there. Over time, it had evolved into a resort city, spreading down from the top to the ground. At the top it was a technological marvel, with floating buildings and bridges and roads suspended in the mist. He had been there many times. There were banks and brothels and hotels and casinos and “museums” with 1,000 jenny admittance fees. The people there collected the rare and awe inspiring.

Myoto was particularly well known for its gardens. Set at high elevations, they crossbred the plants that were brought in from across the world to make them hardier, more colorful, more vibrant. Rumor had it Zoldycks procured their poisons from some of these florists. Garden owners poured millions of jenny into universities and botany programs and selected their best and brightest to come work for them. It was a botanist’s dream come true to go work in Myoto.

Myoto was artistic, so Phinks could not understand for the life of him  _ why  _ Nox was simply bleeding off irritation and outrage at having to go there. They were driving the car, leaving Nyx in the backseat with Phinks, so it was easier for them to explain the details of the operation to him. Phinks had thought this would be a lovely opportunity for Nox, the little artist they were, to study the rarities Myoto collected. It was a pity they had a job to do. Phinks would have loved to rob a museum in the meantime. There was a rare piece, the emerald of Kazshyyk, a heavy medallion lost to time, being displayed at one of the more prominent museums. He wanted to get his hands on it, but alas, they had to be responsible.

“So what are we going to be doing?” He finally asked, finding it necessary to break the silence. He wouldn’t ask why the fuck Gon Freecs was at the manor. Not yet, anyways.

Nyx already had their tablet ready.

**Nobunaga got wind of a laundering operation while passing through. At a bar, specifically, where large cash payments can be matched to records easily. He didn’t have time to track down where it was going, but we think it’s a florist shop. The bar is called the Fleur Lux, and it’s more of a cocktail lounge. It’s known for having “organic art”, where basically the building is designed to be an independent ecosystem. A jungle garden, to be exact. If you pay a premium they can actually drug your drinks for you. They grow rare plants behind the counter that have very potent properties, including aphrodisiacs. There’s rooms above where you can basically have drugged up sex, and pay more to gas the room as a whole.**

“Is that even legal?” Myoto was a strange place of pleasure and villainy, but  _ this  _ seemed extremely off to him.

**Mostly. You have to sign consent forms, and you can’t just buy someone a drink and have it drugged. The rooms are a bit more tricky, so they pay a lot of money to keep people hushed up about it.**

“Hm.” He wasn’t sure what to make of all of this. Of course, he’d done reconnaissance before. That was easy. He had never applied that kind of knowledge to breaking up a laundering operation before.

**At some point it has to be digitized, though. That’s where we come in. We figure out which florist is receiving the money and how, so far we believe there are three of them, and figure out how to hack their accounts to determine where it’s going. It shouldn’t take more than a week.**

“So where do I factor into all of this?”

**Nox and I stand out in a crowd. Our disability brings more notice to us. Your job is to go into the bar and observe for a few days, at varying times. A lot of people pass through Myoto to meet someone, and the bar attracts, well, criminals. Known ones. Which is also why it has so many legitimate cash payments. Police in Myoto are extremely corrupt and easy to buy off, so no one will bother you. You’re going to play like you got stood up by a contact after a few days of waiting. By that time you should be able to observe which florist it is. The most telling sign is that they leave with bags they don’t come in with, or their bags are notably larger than before. If we can’t catch them after three days, our second option is going to be that we break in and examine their records to find contractor receipts with discrepancies, like noticeably larger payments for services rendered than with other florist shops, or specialty payments for services they don’t offer or plants they don’t have. Option two carries substantially more risk, so we are banking on you to not fuck up the first.**

Phinks snorted. It wasn’t so long ago that he was waylaying people who were carrying obvious amounts of money. He could spot a duffle bag stuffed with cash a mile away.

“Yeah, I’m not going to be fucking it up. Spotting money is my superpower, kid.”

Nyx rolled their eyes.

**And you have to actually dress like you don’t want to get caught. No pharaoh robes or tracksuit. Jeans and a t-shirt.**

Well  _ that  _ was disappointing, but understandable. If he was playing at meeting a contact, he had to actually appear like he was meeting a contact. What contact would want to meet with a troupe member that was so obviously a troupe member?

Hisoka, probably.

He still didn’t like Hisoka, but the twins were pretty neat.

Even if Nox was still evidently pissed and taking turns  _ way  _ too sharp.

“Why is Nox so …” He was whispering. Nox had headphones in, and Phinks could hear the heavy metal blasting from the back seat, so he wasn’t sure why he was whispering.

**Feitan.**

Ah. Yes, Feitan having crushes resulted in some unpleasant feelings most of the time. It didn’t take rocket science for Phinks to tell Feitan was developing a crush on Nox, and Nox was likely irritated that Feitan was disrespectful enough to play at being a lovesick puppy. They were probably sharp enough to see through that eventually.

“Oh. Yeah. That would do it.”

**He waited for them to get out of the shower to tell them he liked their shampoo.**

“... Was he waiting in or out of the bathroom?”

**Out. It would be much worse if he was in the bathroom.**

Phinks had once tried to teach Feitan to not be so creepy when it came to any obsession, but Feitan was in a lot of ways like a stubborn child, willing to throw a fit at the slightest provocation. So it had not gone over well. In fact, Phinks had almost worked his way onto the receiving end of Pain Packer.

Feitan was very determined to remain creepy and single.

“I just thought they either didn’t like doing a mission with me, or they were mad they had to go to Myoto.”

**Oh, no, I’M mad I have to do a mission with you. I think it’s stupid to have to run a delicate operation with someone who can’t even really speak to us, even if it’s to make a point. And they are also mad about Myoto.**

Oh. Wow. Phinks had thought himself a perceptive sort, but he hadn’t even picked up on Nyx’s irritation. He would have to watch it, apparently.

“Why are they mad about Myoto?”

**They have very strong opinions on art remaining inaccessible to the poor.**

Oh, right. He’d forgotten they all had some kind of weird, fucked up white knight syndrome. Some people actually cared about that sort of thing.

**We also dislike rich people** , Nyx added as an afterthought. Phinks raised a brow, and then braced himself as Nox took a particularly vicious turn. He would have honestly preferred Nyx behind the wheel at this point.

“Hisoka racks in thousands, if not millions of jenny per job.”

**Yes. Do you think running a ten year operation like this is cheap? We have no financial support. We don’t even know which Zodiac sanctioned it.**

Not to mention their medical bills were likely astronomical, in hindsight. Rich was a matter of opinion, in a way. It was about how you spent it.

“So you don’t like greedy, immoral people,” he supplied, a hint of amusement tinting his tone because  _ look who they agreed to lay in bed with. _

**Yes. But also because most rich people treat us like we’re contagious.**

Ah. Right. The twins appeared to be middle class to the casual onlooker at best, devoid of any signifiers of wealth aside from the opal necklaces they wore that weren’t exactly expensive, either, from the casual glance. The necklaces being the last remaining Gemini craftsmanship may up the value, but literally no one could tell without knowledge of the twins’ history. If there was anything a rich person hated more than someone who wasn’t rich, it was a disabled non rich person. Though, in hindsight, given that they likely relied on Hisoka for income, looking middle class was a deliberate choice. If Phinks saw them on the street, he would assume they were some odd looking twins, not poor enough to be recognizable as being anywhere they didn’t “belong”, but not rich enough to even bother pickpocketing. Forgettable.

“Yeah, they can be dicks like that.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

Nyx apparently decided the conversation was over, because they clicked off the tablet and slid it back into their bag. They leaned their head against the window, and Phinks had the feeling that it was time for him to make himself small.

Phinks enjoyed studying people. While some would say he wasn’t particularly bright, in all actuality he was quite smart, just a down to earth sort of guy. He had a temper, of course, and he knew that. Insults were not forgotten lightly, like with many troupe members. He very often killed without provocation, or reason, but he was a vital member of the troupe because he had some degree of empathy, and protective instincts from time to time. Strong young ones very often caused a mother bear feeling in his chest. He was brash, of course, and not precisely gentle, but he could be a roaring beast when it came to protect the troupe’s youngest. Feitan and Shalnark had to tell him many times to back off and leave them be.

It was a pity, really, for the twins. After all of this, the odds were very much stacked against them. They would likely never join the troupe. That much he could see. But they had been accepted in, for the most part, on Chrollo’s orders, and those orders would expire once it was all said and done.

He wouldn’t put it past some members to turn it into open season on the Morrows. Feitan’s crush would dissipate over time, so offending him in intervening with his prey wouldn’t be a problem. Hell, he may kill Nox, and therefore Nyx, himself. The spiders did as they pleased when there wasn’t a job to do. Hunting such fun prey would be a joyride to them.

They were so young, but he had a feeling that once this job was done, they would likely lose all purpose, anyways. He couldn’t really see a future option.

He still wouldn’t participate in the inevitable hunt.

He kind of liked them, and that empathy was coming back to bite him in the ass, because the troupe, while not directly responsible for the hell their life had become, still enabled Uvogin to do what he did.

Coming to terms with that over the eight days he had been gone had been rough. He hadn’t liked it in the slightest. The elders of the city were useless sycophants, but he loved his city, in his own way. They had failed the city, too, and the guilt of that revelation had bled over into his views of the Morrows. To think that Hisoka had been cleaning up their mess all these years, and the twins with him. To think Hisoka had in a way cleaned up their mess that was the twins.

There was no doubt in Phinks’ mind that without that grounding from Hisoka, the twins’ obsession would have turned to them and the ring at the same time. Perhaps he hadn’t guided them in the decision to view the troupe with apathy, but his influence was undeniable. He saw it all over them, in the way they balanced on this tightrope that was their life. The way they caught on the second anyone’s aura shifted, the way their bodies tensed just slightly and their eyes narrowed. The way Nyx approached anything with cold precision, like a viper prepared to strike, the way Hisoka looked just before he delivered the killing blow.

He didn’t know too much about them, of course. Not yet. This mission was likely going to reveal more to him.

But from what he saw so far, he liked.

And the guilt that Hisoka had been the one to clean up their mess and they hadn’t even known was enough to make Phinks dislike him even more.

Phinks liked people he could read, understand. Hisoka, in the time that he had been at the manor and not quarantined to Chrollo’s room, shifted so quickly and effortlessly between masks that Phinks couldn’t help but distrust him. He didn’t like to feel a debt to someone he couldn’t read. It was dangerous. One moment Hisoka was preening and prancing, sexual and lewd and oozing death and chaos, and the next he was calm and complacent and cool. And then when he first saw the twins, how he looked out of his depth, unable to cope with their presence while they examined him for injuries. How he couldn’t manage to bring up a mask, how Phinks could tell it wasn’t out of shock, but to really reassure them that he was okay.

Phinks caught a glimpse of that scathing sarcasm and eloquent tongue and that relaxed posture and those natural, unrehearsed movements, and he was sure that it wasn’t a mask. That it was as close as he could get to being  _ normal.  _ He hadn’t liked that, the thought that Hisoka could love something.

Hisoka was already deadly when he was selfish.

Phinks didn’t want to contemplate what he could be when he wasn’t.

If one troupe member stepped out of line with the twins, he wasn’t confident Hisoka couldn’t take down as many as he could before they managed to put him down.

So, no, he didn’t like Hisoka. The twins had experience, sure, but in the end it paled in comparison to the troupe. If they lost it, despite being able to draw Feitan’s blood, any of them, with the exception of maybe Kalluto could put them down.

Hisoka was different. Hisoka was a real threat.

It was a pity, really. They would make excellent Spiders, if the troupe could just learn to talk to them.

They would be reaching the hotel soon. Hisoka had insisted on it. Phinks was sure he didn’t like the idea of him sleeping in such close quarters to them. Hisoka had shoved a whole list of do’s and don’t’s at him before they left, with a thinly veiled warning that he  _ would  _ ignore the truce should Phinks choose to ignore the list. It was almost endearing.

  * ****Do not offer them food. They can only consume liquids, and sometimes soft foods.****
  * **If they vomit for any reason, make sure they don’t choke. It’s very difficult to vomit without a tongue.**
  * **They have to sleep at the same time, so you WILL be the only one on guard, should the need arise to have one.**
  * **Under no circumstances will you be the cause of them missing their medication doses. Attached is a schedule.**

Phinks had read over the list and schedule, and had the feeling he was practically a parent taking someone else’s kids for a weekend getaway. It was a very uncomfortable feeling.

“You’re kidding,” he had said, and Hisoka gave him that trademark, hungry smile.

“Do you really want to find out if I am?” Hisoka had replied and ran a finger down Phinks’ cheek.

Uncomfortable. This entire thing was hilariously uncomfortable. Hisoka was having some kind of meltdown, and being away from that meltdown only made Phinks  _ more  _ uneasy.

Nyx had pulled out the tablet again.

**Did he give you a list?**

“Yes,” Phinks muttered.

**Sorry. ** The “sorry” was accompanied with a fist on the chest, moving in circles, and Phinks realized they were taking this opportunity to teach him little things.  **We’ve never worked with someone else before. He’s losing it.**

“That means you think he hasn’t already lost it.”

Nyx snorted a little at that.

**He forgets we’re 18 sometimes. He’s kind of been our primary caregiver since he found us, so sometimes he forgets we can handle ourselves with another person.**

“Would he really try to kill me if he thought I’d harmed you?”

**Yes. He’s still selfish.**

Odd, really, that they viewed that sort of behavior as selfish.

“Why do you say selfish?”

Nyx tapped the end of their stylus on the tablet as they thought of a reply.

**If he tried to kill you, he would be putting us over the mission. But he knows all we care about is the mission. So it would be selfish, because he would ultimately be putting his feelings over our own. He tends to do it a lot.**

“And you’re fine with that?”

**We work stuff out in our own way.**

“I’m in no position to judge, but it seems like you guys don’t actually work anything out, just let it lay.” This was what Phinks couldn’t figure out. At his core, Hisoka was deeply, irredeemably selfish and cruel. Continuing this quest for ten years was at odds with everything he understood of Hisoka. Hisoka would have abandoned it at some point or another. It was hopeless. He’d been briefed on the scatter effect by Chrollo, how a slip up would make it all fall apart. Hisoka had likely seen that scatter effect multiple times. Even now, a slip up would make this team up fall apart. And despite how close the Morrows claimed they were, it was all very far away.

It was like walking on a tightrope.

**We can work stuff out when we’re done.**

Phinks didn’t reply. He knew these kinds of people, the kind that were never really done. He wondered what was going to happen to their dynamic when they finished this mission and realized that it was never going to be  _ enough _ . They would always need more, more, more. He had killed plenty of these people, the kind that defeated their own personal evil and went on a crusade to kill the rest in an effort to lay their own souls to rest. They always ended up back at the troupe, or the mafia, or someone else. It was never over. Phinks pitied them, when he put them down. They were the kind of people whose souls never rested.

He doubted therapy and psychiatrists would give the twins that kind of peace. And as for Hisoka … Hisoka was a restless soul, anyways. He probably thought the twins redeemable because he already accepted that he wasn’t. Perhaps that was why he was so obsessively protective of them. In their redemption he found his own.

It was a pity. The Morrows were lost before they began.


	26. The Garden and the Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins and Phinks arrive at Myoto.

Myoto smelled like heaven, of turned earth and evergreen and the slightest hints of wildflowers. It was built as a monument to the heavens, with glass bridges stretching over each other, towering above the heads of the people below. Over the centuries, it had devolved into sections. The uppermost section was where buildings floated, a pinnacle of technological achievement, attached by the glass bridges as they hummed in the sky. Museums, floating, literally floating gardens, mansions, casinos, resorts, and hotels, all balanced in a precarious tetris formation. The second section was the cafes and arcades and restaurants in the trees. Bars, art galleries, hostels, and the like, taking over the top half of the mountain. The planning had been precise, letting the buildings blend in seamlessly with their surroundings, to give the illusion that the ecosystem had not been irreparably changed by the advance of humanity. Most of it, nowadays, was artificial and controlled by humans. Environmental scientists were paid thousands of jenny to maintain the dreamlike illusion that Myoto claimed.

As the city grew down towards the ground, so did the people. At the base of the mountain were farmers and dreamers. Myoto attracted people with dreams of being the richest and seediest. The tricksters who kept the world running and reaped all of the benefits. Towards the base of the mountain were the criminals, the grunts who made everything work for their bosses at the top, waiting on jobs from the ethereal hosts.

The three of them wouldn’t be spending much time in the bottom half, nor in the top. The bar was in the second half, and the thought of approaching it had Phinks nervous.

He had procured a number of items for these museums, whose benefactors often cleaned up his mess. Most of the troupe had dealings with Myoto, and Phinks was known enough in this city that even three years after his “death”, he could be easily recognized.

Which didn’t really matter, of course. Most people in the underworld had knowledge of the troupe’s survival, even applauded their underhanded switch. Most. Others were still  _ very  _ mad, because the troupe didn’t “know its place”. The Spider stole  _ for  _ them, to them. Not from them. Part of the entire reason for the auction was to cement the understanding that no: the Spider did as the Spider pleased. You could not control the Spider.

In short, the mafia and the businessmen and the criminals of the world had gotten complacent. They didn’t know their place.

Normally, this would not have bothered Phinks, walking into the lion’s den like this.

But …

The twins were next to him, silent and observing. Tense. He wondered just how much experience they even had just existing in public. Likely not much. They were far too prepared for someone to spring out at any moment.

“We got here pretty late,” Phinks said, deciding to take charge of the situation. “We should go to the hotel.”

**No, we should start now** , Nyx wrote and shoved the pad up at his face, as if he couldn’t read from there.

“The bar will be too busy this time of night for any florists to work,” Phinks reminded them. “It would be pointless, and we all need sleep.”

The twins had gotten a bare two hours on their layover. He hadn’t realized how much their pelvises must pain them until they fell asleep, and started tossing and turning the second they slipped unconscious. He could practically smell the discomfort, and another presence that wasn’t their immediate inner circle only made it worse. They hadn’t risked taking the ambien with him around. He could understand. He wouldn’t take an ambien either.

Why they refused the cure, he couldn’t figure out. The concept of being so loyal to something that was dead was utterly pointless to him. Especially when they had to sacrifice something so basic to bodily functions as sleep for it. Not to mention how painful it had to be to walk around on shattered pelvises every day, stabilized or not. It was foolish, really.

Sentimentality was a strange thing indeed.

The twins seemed to agree with him without bothering to tell him they had agreed with him, because they changed directions back towards the hotel without a word.

Really, it was a pity Nox was too stuffy about  _ morals  _ to enjoy this lovely city. Phinks rather liked the hanging lights strung along the streets, the cute little ramen shops and street vendors hawking their wares. Myoto was a lovely city at night. He enjoyed the few excursions he had made here.

The hotel they were set up in was a rather high end one, to preserve Phinks’ cover as being Phinks. It was designed to emulate an aquarium effect, with each room filled with its own kinds of fish. Phinks being Phinks had picked a room with deep sea monsters. He liked their jagged teeth and sightless eyes and the overall ugly appeal.

The twins, once they entered the two bed suite, did not share his delight at the ugly things.

**Did it have to be this room? ** Nox looked rather disgusted.

“Yes. I like them.”

**They’re looking at me. ** Nox, of course, was the complainer. Of course it was Nox.

“Nonsense. They’re blind.”

**They’re definitely looking at me.**

Nyx signed something, rapid fire, at Nox, and Phinks guessed it was along the lines of “shut up and get your shake out”. They hadn’t eaten yet, despite Phinks offering to buy them a yogurt, which was met with “vocal” disdain from Nox and quiet disdain from Nyx. He still couldn’t figure out how they got the right amount of nutrients from a steady stream of disgusting shakes. Maybe that was why they were so tiny.

So the two sat on the bed with their blender bottles and shook up their dinner, leaving Phinks to his own devices while they sucked them down. The first thing he did while they ate was check for bugs, and then check the water pressure in the shower. Water pressure was very important.

“You know,” he called from the bathroom as he fiddled with the nozzle, “if you’re going to tell me I have to look ‘less like me’, you two have to look less conspicuous, too. Do you ever wear different clothes?”

Why he was talking to them when they couldn’t respond, he didn’t know, but Phinks was chatty. He knew what the response was going to be anyways. “We’re not the undercover ones, Phinks.” “People won’t even see us, Phinks.” As if people hadn’t already seen them. Next thing he knew there were going to be theories on the Hunter sites that he had a goddamn twincest kink. Really, they shouldn’t have all gone together. This was a bad idea.

“Actually, why do you even bother wearing the same outfits when you have different hair?” He continued without a care in the world. The water pressure was a tad too much, but it would do. Hotels always had the worst shower pressure. “Kinda weird. I guess it makes for good cinematics.”

There was an audible sigh from the other room. He was fairly sure that was Nyx. It had the “this idiot won’t stop banging his head against a brick wall” quality.

Wait until Nyx learned he actually could break a brick wall with his head.

Then they would understand.

“For the record, I know you’re both pissed to have to work with me, but I’m pretty bummed, too. Don’t they say misery loves company?”

He finally reentered the bedroom to find Nox taking careful inventory of their bag, and Jesus, did anyone need that many pocket knives? Nyx themselves were on their laptop, shake half consumed and sitting on the bedside table. Phinks opted to flop next to them, away from the plethora of sharp objects on his bed. Nyx had apparently already managed to hack the city’s CCTV network. Nice.

“You should finish your meal,” Phinks cautioned and Nyx gave them a stink eye to rival Feitan’s before pulling up a notebook app to take over a portion of the screen.

**Or what, you’ll force feed me yogurt?**

“Aw, see, you aren’t always an ice queen!”

Nyx sighed again and deliberately reached over to take another sip of the protein shake before setting it aside again to continue searching for optimal CCTV footage of the bar.

**You have experience wearing a wire right?**

“Yes.”

**Good, because you’re wearing one tomorrow.**

“So, since the whole reason we’re being forced to work together is to learn how to get along, tell me. What are you gonna do when you’re done?”

Nyx gave him a side eye and continued scrolling through footage until they finally, finally found the bar. Phinks didn’t understand why everyone insisted on a cloud network nowadays. It was so easy to hack. You didn’t even have to get to servers anymore. Such a security risk. Well. At least he was right. There was a steady stream of traffic in and out of the bar.

“Not talking then? Hm. Or do you just not know what you’ll do?”

**Having too many hopes at once leads to distractions** , Nyx finally responded.

“Mmm. Very single minded of you.”

**Don’t patronize. It’s aggravating.**

“I am a very aggravating person.”

**… So who won?**

“What?”

**You sent the video of the sparring match to the group chat. There’s no way everyone didn’t start arguing about who won.**

Phinks barked out a harsh laugh.

“A full week and you’re still dwelling on that? Nox did.”

Nyx snorted and a tiny self satisfied smile hit their lips.

**I thought Feitan did. Nox got mad at me.**

“Hm? Why’s that?”

**Well, he beat himself and Nox in one go. That’s a win to me. And a difficult one.**

Phinks laughed again.

“You know, if you weren’t the way you were, I’d say you should join the troupe.”

Nyx’s hands stilled on the keyboard. Whoops. Phinks had hit a nerve.

**The way that I am?**

“Yeah. Possibly codependent, twisted sense of morals, more of an antihero than a full on villain. People like you don’t change. Not in your wiring. It’s a pity, really. I bet the troupe would love you.”

**Everyone has a twisted sense of morality.**

“Yeah, but we don’t care.”

**But you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t give a fuck about your city.**

That was true, he supposed. They did rather selectively apply morality where it benefited them.

“Like I said. Wired differently. The only caring allowed is for each other and the city.”

Nox was listening, he could tell from the little cock of their head. He still hadn’t gotten a whole lot out of them, which was confusing, as they had initially presented themselves to the troupe as the one to talk to. Maybe Nyx took point on missions. It was likely. That or when they were in a mood they just didn’t talk to anyone, which was also likely.

**We should go to bed** , Nyx finally typed out. Phinks got the feeling that he was going to get ordered around a lot for these next few days by a teenager. Disappointing.

“You guys  _ can  _ take your ambien. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep,” he said casually and Nyx once again treated him to a side eye.

**How do you know about the ambien?**

“Hisoka gave me your medication schedule.”

A long, low groan came from the floor, where Nox had moved to continue their inventory. Was that embarrassment?

“He’d make a good mom,” Phinks joked and Nyx looked horrified for the briefest of moments.

**He absolutely would not.**

“Why do you say that?”

**He once bungee gummed us to a tree and left us there for six hours.**

Actually, that seemed on brand. Phinks shrugged.

“Tough love.”

**He forgot he left us there.**

“Mistakes happen.”

**We were fourteen.**

“So not young enough to die from it.”

**You would also make a bad mom.**

“I carry kleenex for Feitan.”

**The point stands.**

“Take your meds and go to bed.”

Nox signed something at him that seemed very close to “fuck you”, but Nyx glared at them and it seemed whatever argument they were about to have was settled. Phinks wondered, for perhaps the third time, if they were going to get out of this alive.


	27. The Lies and the Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo and Hisoka have a conversation in the library about what Hisoka may be hiding.

With the absence of the twins for the foreseeable future, it fell to Hisoka to babysit their captives.

Ky’ia was easy to teach. Which was honestly a relief. Because Gon … Gon was a literal nightmare incarnate. It almost reminded Hisoka of how it had been to teach the twins, Nyx easy to correct and coach, with Nox stubbornly butting heads at every turn.

Which was why Gon was left upside down and bungee gummed to a tree while Ky’ia was left to work on their Ten. Hisoka was not a great teacher.

“He’s going to have blood pooling in his head at this rate.” There was Chrollo, Hisoka’s ever present shadow, speaking behind him.

“I’m watching him. He’ll survive,” Hisoka said mildly as Gon screamed out another expletive from the tree beneath the library. Hisoka passively switched to another tab. He needed to go back to Heaven’s Arena soon to resecure his spot. “Goodness, Ging gave him a filthy mouth.”

Chrollo stopped before him as Hisoka scrolled aimlessly through the page before him.

“I would have thought you to be a better teacher.”

“I don’t have the patience anymore. He’ll calm down.”

Hisoka couldn’t work out his feelings about Chrollo’s ever growing presence. The way he acted towards him, the way he spoke, the things he said … It all put Hisoka on his guard. Mainly because it made him want to  _ drop  _ his guard. He felt like Chrollo was this building pressure against him, steady, deceptively gentle, and he didn’t like it.

He understood Chrollo. Chrollo always got what he wanted, and it was his strength that ensured his confidence in that. He was always perfectly poised, unwavering, unbending against the force of the world.

Chrollo endured. He didn’t have to break to be reborn, didn’t have to shatter to survive. Hisoka hated him for it.

Realistically speaking, Chrollo was devoid of empathy, and that was partially by choice. He didn’t have to understand people, and therefore he didn’t want to. When you had the kind of strength Chrollo had, of mind  _ and  _ Nen, you didn’t need to empathize with other people, because, admittedly, without any conceit or arrogance factoring in, other people were beneath you. And when you did empathize, you had to expect them to strive to be like you.

That was why the troupe worked. Chrollo provided the example, and they all followed him into a blaze of glory.

Hisoka was not one that followed, nor was he one that led. Even with the twins, there was no real leader in their family. To the world, sure, their dynamic may be seen as Hisoka as the leader, but in reality they were their own little clock. Gears all clacking against each other. None of them led, none of them followed. They all operated independently, but as one. Of course, he had seniority. He  _ could  _ tell them what to do, and he did, but when it really mattered, they all worked as one. And they’d tell him what to do, too. It was all give and take. They all operated like Hisoka: free and ultimately only beholden to each other.

Chrollo simply couldn’t understand such a dynamic. Few people could.

To Chrollo, he was a man that allowed himself to be broken. And so Chrollo should look at him with contempt, because how could such a force of nature as Chrollo understand that in brokenness there was  _ strength _ ? In allowing himself to be broken, Hisoka had allowed himself to have  _ power _ , power as unstable and unpredictable as him. And he liked it that way. The chaos. The  _ rush. _

Chrollo was a man of order. Not chaos.

He could never respect Hisoka. So Hisoka couldn’t understand why he seemed to be  _ trying. _

“You haven’t left yet,” Hisoka said mildly, after it seemed that Chrollo would only continue to stand there. Gon had stopped screaming, at least. An improvement. Maybe he was meditating. Perhaps the blood rush would knock some sense into that hard head.

“This is my library.”

“I mean you haven’t left to go take a job or steal something,” Hisoka said. His voice was sharper than intended. A mistake. “It’s getting close to a month since you brought me here. Surely you must be restless, hm?”

“This is my manor.” Short answers. Hisoka detested how difficult it was to dance Chrollo into a revelation.

“I thought you were more free spirited than that,” Hisoka purred and finally tore his attention from his emails to look up at Chrollo. Passive. No emotion on his face, in his body language. The longer Hisoka was here, the more he was driven to kill.

“What I want is here. For now,” Chrollo replied shortly and took a seat in the armchair across from Hisoka to pull out a book. “Is there any new chatter?”

“Ah, yes. Business as always,” Hisoka teased and looked back down to his screen. There was an email there, an invitation he wanted to ignore. “I’ve been invited to a gala. Several bosses will be there.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so high up in the organization that you would be invited to these things.”

“I have my connections.” The admission twisted in his gut. He felt ugly for saying it.

“You know, it has concerned me lately.” Chrollo flipped a page of his book and Hisoka’s fingers tensed on the keyboard, ready to strike. “The twins are not allowed to do what you do for a variety of reasons, but the major one is that they will be recognized. You went on a killing spree, did you not? For four years, if I am correct.”

“I did,” Hisoka replied coolly. Chrollo looked up at him.

“I find it difficult to believe that you managed to hide that for ten years, and were welcomed back without a thought.”

Bile twisted in Hisoka’s throat. He didn’t want to talk about these things. Not yet. He was never ready to face the truth.

“I had my ways of ensuring their trust.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s something you won’t speak about?”

“I will not.”

The book clapped shut and Chrollo leaned forward, eyes fixed with Hisoka’s. Soulless. Hisoka forgot this man didn’t have a soul.

“I am entrusting you with the lives of my troupe, Hisoka.” Hisoka couldn’t look away. Black eyes were sucking him in. “I would like to know the truth.”

Hisoka knew what this looked like. Earning the trust of the ring? To someone with Chrollo’s mind, his brain would automatically jump to Hisoka “proving” himself, or, worse, operating as a turncoat for some unknown reason. Hisoka had spun enough lies that took a literal telepath to break through to the truth. So it was possible that something was missing. And he would be right in some aspects. Hisoka had “proven” himself, though not in the way Chrollo likely suspected. He himself had killed a variety of Hunters clumsily pawing around in an effort to dismantle the ring. Hisoka didn’t regret the deaths. They were necessary, because the ring could never be dismantled by anyone who wasn’t willing to take the fall like he was. When the full truth came out, it would become very clear that Hisoka truly did belong in prison.

Hisoka had never raped a child, though.

“The truth is I had a protection, of some sort,” Hisoka finally said. “A boss in the ring is invested in me. I will not say anything more than that.”

For a brief moment, he realized his eyes were saying what he could not: please don’t make me say anything more. The mask slammed right back into place, in the hopes that Chrollo hadn’t noticed anything beyond the promise of death.

Chrollo noticed. Hisoka saw it in his body language, the way he saw it when Hisoka screamed at him, accused him of making a mockery of his life. It felt like ages ago. That discomfort, brief, fleeting, the way he shifted back, out of Hisoka’s face, like he was calming a scared cat. The  _ mercy. _

Hisoka wished he’d stop being merciful. He was sick of the games, but he wouldn’t say it.

“Is it bothering you?”

“Hm?”

“That the twins are out with Phinks.”

Yes, of course it was  _ bothering  _ Hisoka. He was still pissed Chrollo had insisted on it in the first place.

“If I answered that, it would cause yet another argument, and I honestly cannot be bothered.”

It was at that moment that Nox decided to text him, and his phone lit up with the message. They had found the florist. Hisoka had been right: it was a florist. The liquor vendors were majorly owned by corporations, not mom and pop stores, and it would be harder to launder with a corporation. It was lovely that he had put all his cards on the table with that one.

“And it seems they have found the florist.”

“I told you it would work.”

“It’s not over yet.”

“You should have faith in them.”

“Oh, I have faith in  _ them.  _ I just have none in Phinks.”

Chrollo sighed, as if he was arguing with a child, and scooted forward on the chair to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Why do you continually insist on being difficult?”

“If having any degree of sense is being difficult, I must be doing actual difficulty wrong,” Hisoka replied with a teasing smile. He was annoyed. There was no reason for him and Chrollo to be talking right now.

“It’s not sense. They need to have to figure out how to communicate effectively in the short amount of time we have.”

“That would be why they always carry their notepads, or something to write on. We don’t need to test it out in Myoto. There’s already rumors circulating of new troupe members online.”

“Shalnark took down any photos.”

“That’s not the point. They are needlessly in danger being seen with Phinks.”

“Have they not been in needless danger before?” Chrollo’s voice had gone soft, and Hisoka’s stomach twisted. Chrollo could have killed them that night. It may have taken him awhile, but he would have done it. The only reason they were spared was because the chaos was too much for anyone to land a killing blow. Hisoka stood abruptly, the laptop discarded onto the end table.

“I will be returning to Heaven’s Arena once the twins return.” He turned on his heel, stilettos clicking loudly on hardwood floors. “I need to keep up appearances.”

Chrollo didn’t reply. Hisoka wasn’t certain that it was a mercy or a punishment. He didn’t really care. This manor was getting to be too much for him to deal with.


	28. The Rose and the Thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins and Phinks hatch their plot and begin to execute it.

They had all surprisingly not killed each other yet. Nyx was actually shocked. Granted, Phinks was relatively easy to get along with, and Nox wasn’t comfortable enough to start their relentless teasing. Phinks was also mature enough to ignore Nox’s snide signs that he  _ knew  _ were insults Nyx wouldn’t repeat. Phinks, really, was a strategic choice. Shizuku was, well, effective, but likely to forget she was even supposed to be with the twins. Nox and Feitan had some kind of weird sexual pressure going on that left Nyx wanting to punt Feitan into outer space, and wouldn’t  _ that  _ be ironic. Kortopi was … Not exactly the best suited for undercover operations, Nobunaga was … Well, kind of like that weird older uncle that always brought the kids back with illegal fireworks. So, aneurysm inducing for Hisoka. Franklin would have been an easy second choice, Bono third, and Machi they already got along with, so there was no real point to be made there. Shalnark was best suited as the man behind the computer, no matter how much it rankled Nyx to admit. And Kalluto was evidently pouting since they had been literally banned entirely from the mission, though they would never, ever admit to pouting. Also, they were banned from the mission.

It was actually going rather decently. They had already figured out which florist it was, and it had only taken them three days. Now all that was needed to be done was for them to infiltrate the shop and plant a keylogger on the computer and relay it back to Shalnark. Normally, this could be done remotely, but the florist had proven to be tough on security and not clicking on random email links. So Nyx would have to get in, bypass the antivirus measures, and manually download the keylogger themselves. Even if it was found, the odds of the discovery happening before they had all of their information was slim to none.

The problem was that at night there was no way for them to break in that wouldn’t cause a scene. The backdoor had biosecurity locks, and the front door had metal rolling screens over all the windows and doors. Obtaining the needed information or program for a biosecurity lock would be relatively easy, but the problem was they used a corporate security network with firewalls so tight it would take weeks for Nyx to access the network and erase the unaccounted for entry. They had tried to ask Shalnark, but he would need two weeks at most, and they simply couldn’t hang around in town for that amount of time without raising even more suspicion.

As it was, Hunter websites were already theorizing the twins were Meteor City residents that had joined the troupe. Photos were taken down instantly thanks to Shalnark, but they were walking on thin ice. If the ring put two and two together, well. They would be dead in the water.

Nyx was already coming up with a contingency plan for that case. They would have to run it by Hisoka, but it may work. Kortopi had made dead bodies before. The only problem was if worse came to worse, they could not be seen in public at all, which would severely limit their mobility. The chessboard would be missing two bishops. That wasn’t an option. Then again, perhaps he could alter their appearance just enough that it would be an odd coincidence. They had to check.

This entire mission was a stupid, pointless gamble. Yes, it was becoming clear that it likely wouldn’t have worked without a third party, but that wasn’t the point. 

Nyx was irritated. It wasn’t even certain the gamble would  _ pay off. _

They were interrupted from their musings by Nox knocking their shoulders together.

“ _ What’s the plan, big shot? _ ” Nox signed and Nyx sighed. Phinks was at the store, getting some more food for them. They had run out of protein powder, and the two were getting substantially less reactive without a blender on hand for real nutrients. They really needed to get one of those little guys. Protein shakes could sustain them for weeks, but they still weren’t enough.

“ _ The plan involves us getting grievously injured. _ ”

“ _ Doesn’t sound like a good one. _ ”

“ _ Do you have a better one? _ ”

“ _ Well, no, but still. You’re the smart one. Do better. _ ”

“ _ You aren’t stupid. _ ”

“ _ Doesn’t make me the smart one, jackass. Continue. _ ”

Nyx sighed and slid to being flat on their back, staring up at the ceiling, and Nox slapped their shoulder.

“ _ Don’t mumble. Up. _ ”

Nyx sat up with a groan and rubbed their temple. Whoever caused this headache was an asshole. It was probably Nyx that caused it, but still. They’d blame Nox.

“ _ The plan is you enter with Phinks, who will be looking to buy apology flowers to hold up the image that he was waiting for someone who never showed. You have to wear the fake hearing aids, but that’s a given. Anyways. You enter with Phinks, and he will send someone over to collect you when he’s going to pay without telling them you can’t ‘hear’. They startle you, you knock over a flower vase and fall with it and cut open your hand or arm or something I can patch up in a few seconds. I will be standing by with bandages. We have to play on the fact that we know they’re growing ateneas surror roses, which, as we know, can kill someone if the pollen gets into an open wound. And YES we WILL be getting antidotes, before you say something. They’re likely going to flip out, since the roses are extremely illegal and in blooming season, so there’s the chance of pollen in the store. In the chaos, I’ll slip in. Phinks will have to play it up significantly and stall for as long as it takes me to get out. I will need two to four minutes. They keep the first aid kit under the counter, so there’s not a high risk of them going to the backroom to get it. _ ”

Nox nodded several times in a way that told Nyx they were about to say something scathingly sarcastic.

“ _ I like it, I like it, yes, but uhhh, _ ” they shook out their hand extensively to accentuate the drama and Nyx’s eyes suddenly felt very, very tired, “ _ you think you can redo that without the risk of death by pollen? Because no offense. That is a pretty embarrassing way to go. Pollen. _ ”

“ _ No. _ ”

“ _ Whatever happened to a blaze of glory? _ ”

“ _ Pollen is a blaze of something. _ ”

“ _ A blaze of pain in my ass. _ ”

“ _ Stop being difficult. It takes two weeks to kill you and we’ll have the antidote in an hour. _ ”

“ _ You can’t just tell me ‘oh yeah you might die from pollen’ and then expect me to not be a little dramatic about it. _ ”

“ _ I can expect you to be mature about it. _ ”

“ _ What about DYING BY POLLEN IS MATURE? _ ”

“ _ Just say yes or no. _ ”

“ _ Fine. Let’s go get some killed by some motherfucking pollen. _ ”

“ _ We aren’t going to die. Stop it. _ ”

“ _ We are absolutely going to die and I will be giving you shit about it all down the Path. I will never leave you alone. _ ”

This was hopeless. It was utterly hopeless. Nyx slid back down to the floor and hit their head with a loud thunk, making Nox wince. It served them right.

It was at that moment that Phinks’ encroaching presence reached the door and opened it to the sight of Nyx with an arm thrown over their eyes and Nox in some kind of knife polishing pout.

“Did I, uh, interrupt something?”

Nyx’s hand came up and they signed a definitive ‘no’. That Phinks understood. He moved to set the bags on the bed.

“Got your protein shakes. And I picked up some smoothies.”

_ That  _ got Nox’s attention and they lifted their head from their throwing knife. Phinks rubbed the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly under Nox’s punishing gaze.

“You two didn’t seem interested in yogurt, so I thought maybe you’d like some smoothies.”

Nearly took his head off for suggesting yogurt, to be exact, but who was counting? Nox stood fluidly and pulled a strawberry banana smoothie out of the cupholder, sniffing delicately before retreating to their bed to sip at it. Apparently he had gotten through to that one somehow. Everyone could be reached through their intestines.

“Nyx, you want one?”

Nyx lifted their arm and studied him before sitting up and obligingly accepting the offered smoothie. Thank gods. He thought they were going to continue to hate him.

Phinks sat on his own bed, facing the twins, and sipped on his smoothie, waiting patiently. Talking to them when they were eating was a task not lightly attempted, he had discovered. One, they needed their hands. Two, they seemed to regard that time as “quiet time”, even if they could objectively write. Phinks could respect that, even if the silences had been a little uncomfortable at first.

They were still wary around him. But, over the past few days, they had started to warm up to his presence. He found himself liking them more and more. He couldn’t help it. When Nox did oblige to speak to him, they were delightfully mean, to the point where he couldn’t help but laugh, because  _ goddamn  _ they were funny. All mouth and snark and the bite to back it up. And Nyx was a cooling calm kind of presence. The kind of person you could hang out with for hours and not have to say anything at all and just be comfortable with. He could easily imagine the Morrows out in that bungalow they had in the woods, just living in quiet comfort. Nox painting Hisoka’s nails while Nyx tapped away at that laptop they were so invested in, or the three of them bundling up against the winter to watch a movie. He imagined they probably had a lot of plants that were hard to kill. Nyx had managed to name every plant in the bar he was in, typing out a list of what he was looking at when Phinks had been there for two hours with no florist in sight. He didn’t think they had to look them up.

Yeah, he liked the kids. To the point that when this all ended, he may just try to trip up whichever troupe members went out for sport. May.

The twins finished their smoothies and carefully, delicately set the empty cups aside.

“So. We got a plan?”

Nyx nodded and pulled out their tablet to open an actual typing application. Oh. Oh so it was like that.

It took them a good two minutes to finish and pass it over to him. Phinks read it critically. So that was why Nox was pouting. He could almost imagine what they’d have to say about it. Death by pollen? Ridiculous.

“I assume Nox has already pointed out the flaws here.”

Nyx groaned, very faintly, and Phinks bit back the urge to smile.

“The antidote, I guess, is gonna be at a hospital or somethin’? I don’t think that’s the kind of thing they stock at pharmacies.”

Nyx pulled out their notepad and scrawled their response.

**Already have Shalnark looking into it to find the closest one. We don’t have the means for brewing it. I don’t even have a centrifuge machine on hand.**

“... That implies you  _ normally  _ have a centrifuge machine on hand.”

**Of course I do. Who do you think I am?**

“An eighteen year old child with literally no reason to have a centrifuge machine.”

**There’s always a reason for centrifuge machines. Poisons, for example.**

“I can’t argue with that, but I really have the urge to do so.”

**Markers going dry, for another example. ** Now Nox was chiming in, and Nyx set a glare on them and signed something. Phinks barely caught “you” and “broke” and the questioning (but still accusatory) expression.

Nox signed “no”, but they looked happily guilty. Phinks had the feeling that they broke a centrifuge machine with art supplies. Ah, siblings. He always wondered was it was like.

“So are we in agreement about the death pollen?”

Nox and Nyx were broken from their argument by Phinks’ swift intervention, and both signed yes.

“Great, so then we can agree that I will absolutely refuse to walk into that shop until I see two doses of it in a safe place.”

Nyx looked stubborn, but Nox happily signed yes with a big shit eating grin directed at Nyx.

“ _ And  _ we’re in agreement that we are absolutely not telling Hisoka about the death pollen.” This time they both signed yes, rather quickly, and Phinks blew out a sigh of relief, because the last thing he needed was whatever qualified as a Hisoka temper fit. His life was already getting too complicated with the introduction of the Morrows.

“Well. Sun’s going down. We can get the antidote tomorrow morning, and hit up the shop around noon.” The hotel room had a DVD player, and Phinks rummaged around in the bags to pull out a case. “I dunno about you two, but I really don’t see the harm in watching a movie about street racers.”

Nox perked up at “racers”. He knew it. Nyx seemed vaguely uninterested, and instead climbed up off of the bed. The notepad was passed to Phinks with their last message as they made for the bathroom.

**You two can watch. I’m gonna get a bath.**

They were already twisting their mass of curls into a sloppy bun. That was fine. Phinks was cool with chilling out with Nox.

“Cool,” he said with a wave, and the bathroom door clicked shut. “Ready, Nox?” Nox nodded vigorously, and Phinks decided to count it as a win. He’d already partially won over Nyx. It was a matter of pride to get Nox on the same page now. If it had to be through gratuitous action and massively unrealistic car crashes, so be it. At the end, no matter how much shit the twins had been through and what they could do, they were still teenagers, after all. And he knew how to talk to teenagers.

The night passed rather quickly after that. Nox and Phinks stayed up rather late, watching a total of three films in silence, and before they knew it, sleep claimed them, Nox lulled to bed by Nyx and Nox’s conjoined medication dosages. Kids. They were still kids, Phinks thought, as he adjusted the blanket over Nox’s shoulder.

It was a pity, really. Uvogin shouldn’t have done what he did. They killed kids for a reason, but looking at them, and thinking about Hisoka, he couldn’t help but feel maybe it all turned out okay in the end. They were never going to be “normal”. Some scars were too deep. They may turn out to be murderous, marauding bandits like the troupe. But maybe they’d do some good, find a little happiness in the carnage.

Yeah. They were good kids.

The sun rose with Phinks’ blossoming realization that Chrollo and Hisoka’s plan was working. If they were all going to work together, they had to like each other, and as Nox and Nyx zombied through their morning skincare and carefully applied makeup, he realized that if the troupe spent some time with the twins, one on one, they’d probably like them, too.

The twins needed people that made them feel not so monstrous. The troupe could give them that. Phinks could give them that. Normal, good people would applaud their results, but judge them from their high ivory towers of morality on their means. Hisoka had killed plenty of innocent people to get here. The twins likely had, too, though not on the same level. And they probably  _ liked  _ it, no matter how much they didn’t want to admit it. There was a reason no one until now knew what they looked like, despite them being active for maybe three years. Bystanders got caught in the crossfire, too.

To reform would be to say the results weren’t worth it. Objectively speaking, they simply couldn’t do that. They were hurtling down their self imposed path, and no one but Hisoka had told them it was  _ okay.  _ And maybe it wasn’t, but who was Phinks to judge? The ring had survived for three decades. Every attempt to dismantle it had failed. Adults  _ did  _ have to die for the chance for children to have a life. Even “innocent” adults, adults who would crack under torture, crack under bribes, crack under pressure, end up dead anyways. Phinks had thought long and hard during those lonely three days in the bar, and every outcome he could think of involved complete and utter secrecy. It was a pity the world would never understand that.

Yes, Chrollo was very scheming indeed. Phinks could appreciate him for it. 

His only worry was this mission would end up splitting the troupe down the middle. It wasn’t the sort of thing people walked away from unchanged. Hisoka was a testament to that. A revolving door of masks, desperately clinging to his anchor. The twins were too old for their faces, toxic, driving each other to their own deaths. Good and bad, right and wrong, all mixed up in a mess. Phinks worried this whole … doing the right thing the wrong way was going to get to the troupe, this mass of seasoned killers, the most wanted individuals on the planet. If any of them started developing a conscience, it could break them.

It was a silly worry. The Spider would endure. It would always endure.

He was broken from his thoughts by Nox pulling up to the hospital. The twins, who were very clearly  _ not  _ morning people, looking tired and murderous under their makeup, started to unbuckle their seatbelts.

“Whoa, what are you two doing?”

Nox and Nyx stared at him tiredly, too exhausted to bother writing exactly what they were doing.

“... Out of the three of us, which ones are the spies, and which one of us is the professional thief?”

Nox blinked, as if that hadn’t occurred to them, and Nyx looked even more irritated because  _ how dare Phinks tell them something they hadn’t considered already. _

“Just keep the car warm, yeah?” Phinks slid out. “Be back in thirty minutes.”

And, with that, he was off. Two doses of the antidote. It was in a hypospray kind of format. Shalnark had provided images and a name, as well as a map of the hospital. It was lucky it was in Myoto. They were short on time, but it did make sense for a hospital in a city known for exotic plants to have an excess of antidotes for various natural poisons. They likely had a lot of cases, and the roses were particularly potent.

On the fourth floor of the hospital was the supply room. The problem was getting there, as it was behind four locked doors that required keycards from actual doctors, not just nurses. Pickpocketing would be fairly easy, but they couldn’t raise any alarms, nor alert anyone to their presence in the future. This was different than the things Phinks normally dealt with. It normally didn’t matter if someone eventually found out they’d been robbed. That was the fun of it.

He’d have to leave the keycard on a desk. Somewhere anyone could leave it and forget on a day without coffee. Nen, this was a pain.

It was no matter, he reminded himself as he shrugged on the medical mask. Just a few extra steps to something he could do in his sleep. He was already dressed the part, in slacks and a tucked in button down that felt unnatural on his body. All he needed now was a labcoat. 

First thing first, a keycard. The hospital smelled the way all hospitals did: sterile. He preferred stench. Hospitals made him antsy. He’d spent a lot of his younger years in them, poked and prodded and sedated when he acted out until he’d eventually been dumped in Meteor City by his parents to die when they couldn’t afford the cure for his ailment. Chrollo had stolen it for him. Brought back memories.

And now here he was, stealing for someone else, from a hospital. It was funny how things went full circle.

There was a doctor approaching him in the wide hall, coffee in hand, drained, tired. Phinks remembered how he’d see doctors for sixteen hours sometimes until they finally went home. He was on the last legs of his shift. A perfect candidate, distracted with his phone. Phinks shifted directions, set in a meandering beeline that ran him right into him.

Coffee splashed all over them and Phinks latched onto the keycard as the doctor yelped. He was young. Probably fresh out of college. The keycard disappeared up Phinks sleeve as he muttered apologies.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m heading home anyways, my fault, I was looking at my phone,” the doctor said, almost too rapid for Phinks to follow. Phinks smiled, anyways.

“Nah, it was mine. You okay? It wasn’t too hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really. It was all my fault.” The doctor legitimately looked guilty. Poor thing.

“Well, if you say so. I can replace the shirt.”

“It’ll wash out. My ride’s waiting. So sorry.”

And then the doctor was slipping around him, in a rush to get down the hall and out of the hospital. Phinks could hardly blame him.

Keycard was acquired. Now for the coat …

Oh, Nen, was it  _ that  _ easy? He thought this place was supposed to be tight on security, but there it was, a coat lying on the back of a chair, not a soul in sight to watch it. Fluidly, he grabbed it and shrugged it on, attaching the keycard to it with the photo facing in against his chest. Back to the elevators and up to the fourth floor.

Hopefully he hadn’t just nabbed a resident’s keycard without full access to the building. He wasn’t sure what their position was on student residencies. The guy was young enough to be finishing his up, or just starting his first actual job.

It would be fine. The elevator doors slid open and Phinks strode through as if he belonged there. This hospital was infamous for keeping a rotating staff, probably because of the amount of criminals people had to treat here, and the threats when someone grew a conscience and started questioning their oaths. The police were ineffectual here. They only served to uphold the law of Myoto, not the land. So he could probably blend in seamlessly. People were constantly flying in their preferred doctors to operate, specialists, people they wanted to see without leaving the comfort of Myoto. Working here was a double edged sword, because the amount of funding the hospital had was immense. Breakthroughs in science were continuously being done here. To work at a hospital in Myoto was to secure your future for the next several decades. But to do so, you had to overlook the kind of crime that couldn’t be explained away by societal factors at play, like poverty. You knew who was on top, and who was getting hurt as a result. And, sometimes, you had to treat the people on top, too.

Yeah, being a medical professional in Myoto was rough.

No matter. He could use the resulting problems to his advantage.

It was a breeze getting through. He passed a few doctors who scarcely paid him a glance, a couple of nurses next to them, a pharmacist. No one even bothered to question when he returned with the hyposprays.

Easy. Simple. He didn’t know why he was worried. The coat was left back on the chair, the ID tag shoved back in an awkward place behind a landline, and Phinks was out and at the waiting car.

Nox and Nyx had woken up a little in his absence, sipping on the iced coffees he’d grabbed for them on the way here.

“Got them,” he said and pulled the hyposprays out of his pocket. “Should we give it a few hours to get to the florist, or go now?”

It would be opening in another ten minutes. There would be a bit of a rush around ten am.

**Let’s go later, let a few more people get in there to help the confusion.**

“Mmm. Smart. Back to the hotel, then?”

Nox and Nyx both nodded. He had a sinking suspicion they really just wanted to get a nap in. They looked like harpies.

“No naps then.”

A wadded up piece of paper was thrown directly at Phinks’ head from the driver’s seat, but he just grinned under the mask.

“Teenagers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a bonus apology chapter. The fic is still finished and WILL be uploaded, but I'm taking a one to two week hiatus to let my beta reader catch up and so I can work on a project without worrying too much about editing. Thank you all for sticking through until now, if I do have any regular readers! To The Grave will be returning shortly!


	29. The Danseur and the Danchou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo discovers Hisoka can dance. Hisoka discovers Chrollo can flirt.

Hisoka was stressed. Hisoka was very, very stressed. He couldn’t leave the manor to deal with it with his usual vices because he had two brats (one significantly less bratty) to babysit in the twins’ absence, nor could he go do his normal thing because he needed to be available if something went wrong. He couldn’t exactly go picking fights, either, and there seemed to be a constant rotating door of troupe members going in and out, all avoiding him like the plague, except Feitan, who was literally the one person in the damn manor besides Chrollo he actually  _ wanted  _ to be avoiding him.

It was a blessing when Feitan got wind of a job and left, three days after the twins had taken off for Myoto.

Well, it was partially a blessing, because Hisoka soon realized it was only Feitan’s presence that kept Gon from pestering him about whatever the “operation” was, and why he couldn’t know about it considering he was stuck here  _ anyways  _ so it wasn’t like he could tell anyone.

Gon had predictably ended up gummed upside down to a tree a second time for his troubles. Hisoka normally had the patience to dance around continuous questions, but dealing with them for days on end was another matter entirely. Ky’ia pretty much needed very little instruction, anyways, so Hisoka left them to work it out on their own while he ran to a surprisingly bare basement.

He didn’t often do this for stress relief. Good memories always had ugly things attached, but for the life of him he could never let it go. Hisoka was someone that loved art, loved drama, loved his body and to use it like a weapon. There were many ways to weaponize a body. Memories of dead bodies cooling in bloodied white sheets served well to remind him of that. He liked to tell himself that he still did this because there was nothing more sexual and sensual than dance, and it was good to keep up that practice. It applied to a lot of things. Many of the things he had been taught in his youth pertaining to dance had carried him through these years. Deliberate movements. Deliberate poses that felt natural and refined. Where on the body you could draw attention in ways that wet the palate, but didn’t drown it. Thighs. Hips. Arms. Movement itself was sexual, and sexuality was a tool to be exploited.

That’s what he told himself, and it was true.

He could keep up this practice for days, these exercises that left him sweaty and gross. Pirouette, pirouette, pirouette, pirouette, pirouette, tour en l’air, the air rushing past his face and cooling his sweaty body, effortless landing, again, and again, and again, and then break for stretches, check your posture, then do your positions, one, two, three, four, five. He couldn’t do his choreography in this space, all the shows he remembered even now, but he could do the fundamentals, over and over again.

There was a time when practice for six hours made his body scream in protest, but the exhaustion afterwards had always made the nighttime work so much easier to cope with. Sometimes, he wondered if that was why he’d insisted on it … the ringmaster. When you were too tired to care, even though you  _ knew  _ it wasn’t normal, what was happening, it was easier to cope with. Officially, the reason had been he learned the fundamentals of balance through ballet, that it made easier for him on the rope. And it had. The concepts and muscle memories were the same for the most part.

It was the ballet that had saved him, in a way, when his Nen was discovered. There was more money to be made.

Hisoka was supposed to be destressing, but the memories were only making it worse. He almost didn’t land his grand jete, skidded to a halt on the floor. An imperfection. Disgusting. This wasn’t working. He needed to  _ kill. _

“Your form is excellent.” Chrollo had snuck up on him again. Hisoka hadn’t even heard the door open and shut. How very careless.

“And your basement is dusty.” It was true. Hisoka had cleaned it on impulse when he found it, but hadn’t bothered knocking down the cobwebs.

“You dance like you started young.” Chrollo began to walk down the rickety stairs. Observations. Hisoka was sick of Chrollo’s observations. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

“We all need a hobby,” Hisoka replied. He wasn’t going to start letting Chrollo dominate the conversation  _ now.  _

“Why didn’t you continue?”

Hisoka’s patience was fraying far more quickly nowadays. He was tired. He was stressed. The unanswered gala invitation from dearest ringmaster was sitting in his email, taunting him. He probably needed to be doing this practice. Knowing Alexandre, dear, dear Alexandre, a performance would be sprung on Hisoka unprompted, should Hisoka accept the invitation. Alexandre did love to show off his toys, after all. Or it wouldn’t. He liked to keep Hisoka on his toes. The absence of the twins with someone  _ else,  _ someone that wasn’t  _ him, _ was wearing at him, too. He didn’t need Chrollo prying at him right now. He might slip up and say something Chrollo didn’t need to know.

“I do what pleases me.” The words echoed, back to Chrollo’s declaration of “support”. It felt like it had been decades ago. Hisoka  _ felt  _ decades older. Even Nyx had noticed, quietly replaced his eye cream with something stronger for the bags that were starting to form. He was going to get wrinkles at such a young age.

“If it didn’t please you enough to continue, why do you do it now?” Chrollo had stopped halfway down the stairs, and there it was again. Like he was approaching Hisoka like a wounded animal. Hisoka wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth.

“There is a difference in having a hobby and making it a career, Chrollo. Danseurs don’t have licenses to kill, after all.”

Hisoka had a growing suspicion, a suspicion that had haunted the edges of his consciousness ever since Chrollo pinned him to the wall. The Chrollo in question was staring at him now, practically scalding him with that  _ hunger  _ Hisoka caught in moments when the soullessness faded. The hunger he kept trying to hide, for some reason or another. Hisoka was tired of being yanked around by Chrollo’s relentless, crushing pressure. It was time to start playing ball.

Hisoka moved to the table and grabbed the water bottle that was waiting for him. All the ice had melted. Pity. He’d have to get a better one. Deliberately, he tilted his head back, throat exposed for Chrollo to gaze at, and took a long swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught that shift in Chrollo’s gaze. He thought so.

“Did you learn in the circus?” Chrollo asked. Hisoka wondered if he was just trying to break the tense silence.

Patience. Patience was cracking under Chrollo’s pressure. Hisoka set the bottle down on the table and  _ stretched,  _ stretched right out across the rough wood. His shirt rode up, baring pale skin, and his left leg lifted deliberately to land atop the table. Hisoka reached out, showing off his full flexibility as he touched his toes with his left hand, pointed his toes to follow his fingers. The strain in his hamstring felt good, the burn in his side.

“I learned a lot of things in the circus,” he purred. “Would you like me to show you?”

It worked. Briefly. Chrollo almost, almost looked unnerved at the sickening implications, the sickening reminder. Hisoka waited, patiently, a patronizing, teasing smile stretching his lips. Was it enough to make him run?

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Chrollo finally said. Stubborn, stubborn man.

“A pity. I’m very talented.”

“I’m sure.” Chrollo was trying at patronizing. Cute, but he had wandered into Hisoka’s court now. Chrollo could be good at anything, everything, but he would never,  _ never,  _ be better than Hisoka at sex.

“You’re sure?” Hisoka echoed innocently. “If you’re so sure, do you not want a taste?”

“You wouldn’t survive my appetite.” There it was again. The flicker in Chrollo’s eyes. If Hisoka hadn’t been so concerned with running him off, he might have gotten excited.

Instead, he pushed it. He always pushed it. Hisoka couldn’t  _ not  _ push it. He just wasn’t programmed that way. His tongue stretched out, long, dripping with all the saliva he could muster, and lavished over his lips as his eyes lit up with his trademark craze.

“Bold of you to assume I care about survival.”

There was the flicker again. Hunger, replaced by a drip of frustration. Hisoka was  _ getting  _ to him.

“Why can you never just behave?”

Hisoka shifted, bringing his leg over his head, pulling, stretching, and then holding it.

“Behaving is for  _ bores. _ ”

“I can assure you that I can make it  _ very  _ interesting.”

Chrollo looked about as surprised as Hisoka felt. Was Chrollo … reciprocating flirting? It was enough to leave Hisoka speechless, but, as it always was, that didn’t last long enough for a response time to expire.

“My, my, Chrollo. I didn’t think me your type.” Just for the hell of it, since Chrollo had seen him dancing  _ anyways,  _ Hisoka shifted his weight, lifted himself off the floor with his hands and landed firmly on the edge of the table, legs spread wide, pulling his pants tight across his crotch. He leaned back on his elbows, tilted his head, giving Chrollo a sight worth remembering. Strip of skin, bare neck, all leading down to a sizeable package. A tease leading to an open invitation.

“And what did you think my type was?” Chrollo’s eyes were stubbornly locked on Hisoka’s face. A pity. What a waste of a good pose.

“Blindly obedient, I suppose.” Hisoka held it for a moment more before standing to stretch out his back.

“You underestimate how much I enjoy a challenge.” Oh,  _ now  _ Chrollo was paying attention to Hisoka’s exposed hips. How incredibly rude of him. Hisoka hadn’t even planned that one.

It had been awhile since someone really wanted to fuck him. The last tryst he had was with Illumi, before he had ignored Illumi for once and pissed him off. Hisoka could relish the attention before the inevitable crisis hit. He still had his vices, after all.

“Am I a challenge to mount?” Mount left his lips in a purr, lecherous, filthy in the best of ways. Carnal, if you would. Hisoka wouldn’t be opposed to Chrollo mounting him in theory. At least, after Hisoka had hit an explainable amount of low points to justify it to himself without triggering a meltdown. After all, not even Illumi had known who Hisoka really was. This would be a first … Well, second for him, and the first hadn’t ended well.

Not really. It wasn’t like sex led to love.

“No,” Chrollo replied, throwing a wrench in  _ that  _ thought process. “No, you’re not a challenge. That would imply I see you as a conquest.”

Hisoka’s brain short circuited. Not a conquest … Then what?

Okay, make that a few more low points.

“My, my, Chrollo, you are  _ delightfully  _ good at hurting my feelings.”

To think Chrollo would be so bold as to tell Hisoka he wasn’t even worthy of being a conquest. It was truly apparent that Chrollo was most certainly an orphan. The lack of  _ manners.  _

Hisoka could have sworn Chrollo squinted at him for a moment.

“You’re a brick wall, Hisoka.” And then Chrollo was gone, right up the staircase and out of the basement, leaving Hisoka alone again.

Had Hisoka misread that?

Impossible. Hisoka never misread anything. Chrollo could  _ say  _ he respected him all he liked, but respect didn’t mean … No.

Chrollo merely saw him as a potential fling. That was all.

Damn the man, now Hisoka had even  _ more  _ to worry about. Ridiculous. This was all ridiculous. They didn’t even  _ need  _ the troupe. Why was he still  _ here _ ?

Because it was what the twins had agreed on. And him. Because it made sense. Because logic, logic, logic. Why did the Spider head insist on being so  _ illogical?  _

  
Hisoka was going to kill him when this was all over. Just for the crime of confusing him. Why couldn’t he just be  _ upfront  _ about whatever the fuck it was he wanted? Was it so hard? Was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking it out through the mini hiatus! Uploads are switching to Mondays and Fridays!


	30. The Bourbon and The Seamstress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phinks discovers he's an idiot, Hisoka discovers he's a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of sexual abuse, incest. Incest and possible sexual abuse is after Phinks' POV shifts to Hisoka, so I will include a summary at the bottom of what happens after that.

It was not supposed to go _ this _badly. Hisoka was going to kill him. Hisoka was going to kill him, Phinks was going to be dead, and no one was going to carry Kleenex for Feitan, or keep notes for Shizuku, or fetch fabric for Machi, or make sure Franklin wasn’t letting his chains rust, or make Kalluto laugh once in awhile and loosen up, because Phinks was going to be dead.

They had finished, of course. Nyx, being as prepared as Nyx was _ always _ prepared, had carried alcohol wipes to clean up the blood before they left. It was fine, really. There were no egregious gaps in security. The operation hadn’t been derailed. Nyx had broken Nox and him out of the hospital before they busted out the suture kit for Nox and realized something was _ really _weird and now they were out of the city, sitting in awkward silence as the car rumbled along the road.

Nyx had confirmed the keylogger was working. That was about the only saving grace about this whole situation.

“So,” Phinks said awkwardly. “That went well.”

Nox and Nyx glared at him from the backseat, as if it was all _ his _fault. At least he’d managed to properly administer the antidotes.

It was fine at first. Phinks was playing the bumbling scorned lover, asking for a bouquet of apology flowers because “he doesn’t like roses when I have to say sorry”. He’d kept the cashier appropriately distracted. He’d sent the other girl, a nice girl, really, over to Nox to collect them, but none of them had counted on the fact that the girl would be a klutz.

When she called twice to Nox as Phinks was absorbed in conversation with the cashier, she got flustered when Nox didn’t respond. It was her first day or something. So when she knocked on Nox’s shoulder, there was a little too much force, enough to make Nox _ actually _ jump and grab on instinct at their assailant, leading to the girl yelping, and Nox’s brain short circuiting to where they _ really _overdid it when they knocked over the vase and slipped. The girl had panicked, reached to grab at Nox when they fell, and that resulted in her losing her own footing and landing on top of Nox. Nox got crunched pretty badly on the glass, slicing open their arm and lower back instead of just their arm alone, and when the girl found out Nox was “deaf” she had burst into tears.

It had been literal chaos. More than intended. People were freaking out. Nox had nearly been cut to the bone, would have been had they not had that little ability of theirs, and the crop top they had chosen to wear was shredded. The girl was terrified Nox had cut a tendon or something or had enough nerve damage they wouldn’t be able to sign anymore. Nox had tried to reassure her, but that only resulted in _ more _tears because she didn’t know what Nox was saying.

It really was a perfect cover for Nyx to do everything, if Nyx hadn’t been bleeding from more areas than necessary. They had still managed it, and cleaned up every sign of their presence before they went to go bust them out of the hospital.

Really, if it was anyone’s fault, it was Nox’s for flustering the girl even _ more _ than necessary. A knee jerk reaction shouldn’t have happened, but Phinks couldn’t really fault Nox for doing so. The girl had _ really _yanked on Nox.

Hisoka was still going to kill him. They couldn’t hide this.

The twins had already texted Klaus. Apparently he had some kind of plaster for this kind of thing. They had yet to text Hisoka. He could tell because they hadn’t winced yet.

It was going to be a long, silent ride home. He would advocate for the three of them to stop at a motel, but at the rate they were bleeding through bandages … No, it wouldn’t be safe. Instead, he was making them pile on the protein shakes and electrolytes. They were a mess. The blood hadn’t been washed out of Nox’s hair, heavy at their waist.

Two hours into the drive, he could tell they were flagging. He should have stolen some blood bags on the way out, but he had no idea what type they were. O would have been safe.

It was time for drastic measures.

Phinks turned up the music so the bass reverbed through the car and shook them away. Nyx blinked at him blearily and he grinned into the rearview mirror.

“You can sleep after a blood transfusion or at least getting patched up.”

It was a two day drive to the manor. He’d have to make it in one if he _ really _didn’t want Hisoka to kill him.

Speak of the devil, Phinks’ phone started buzzing, and he tried to remember when he had given Hisoka his number, much less when he had actually saved Hisoka’s into his phone. Considering the emojis next to it, kissy face, kissy face, kissy face, knife, he probably wasn’t the one that saved it. Preparing for whatever constituted Hisoka losing his shit, he turned down the music and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Phinks.”

“Phinks, darling.”

“Hello, Hisoka.”

“Might there be a reason the twins’ doctor has messaged me asking where the manor is?”

“Well. There may be several reasons for that.”

“Mmm. I see. Lovely.”

Phinks pursed his lips and looked back in the mirror. Nyx looked marginally awake. Nox was drifting. He needed to pull over and tighten the bandages. Thank Nen for leather interiors.

“Are you going to _ tell _me those reasons, Phinks?” Hisoka’s voice was laced with venom. Phinks wasn’t sure this was the best place to discuss this, but hey, better to give Hisoka a day to calm down.

“Well. Nyx had a plan. And it went a little overboard.”

“Hm. I see. And which plan was that?”

“... Well, the initial plan was that Nox would play deaf, I’d set someone up to startle them in the shop, knock over a vase, get cut, start a panic that would pull the manager out of the office, and Nyx would go into the office and do the keylogger.”

“I see. Very smart. Why did no one think to play a disgruntled customer that demanded to speak to a manager?”

Phinks blinked. Nyx heard and color rose to their cheeks. Nox was still a little out of it.

“Well, I guess Nyx picked up your flair for dramatics.” He couldn’t help it. He just had to say it. It was right there. Nyx choked in the backseat and Phinks crunched down on his bottom lip. He could practically see Hisoka rubbing between his brows on the other end.

“I should have known the three of you put together would be too much to remember to pack some brain cells for your trip,” Hisoka finally said after a long, long pause, and Phinks winced. He was correct. There had been some brain cells forgotten somewhere. “But, really, Phinks, I wouldn’t have thought you were so stupid to go along with this.”

“We were pressed for time.” It was a terrible excuse.

“So pressed you evidently chose to take literally the worst option when the obvious one was right there.” Yeah. Yeah, it was a bit of an obvious option. How many times had he seen small time con men get away with it?

“Listen, I’m more preoccupied with keeping them awake, so can we hurry it up already?”

Hisoka sighed, long, dramatic.

“I _ suppose. _ I expect two hour updates.”

“I’ll have them home in a day.”

“If you don’t, Phinks, I will kill you.”

“I’m sure.” Phinks had no doubt Hisoka would follow through on that threat. There was another sigh, irritated, and then Hisoka hung up.

Hisoka stared at the phone in his hand. Logic above all else, he reminded himself as bloodlust stirred. Logic, logic, logic. Logically, the twins were dumbasses and had literally done this to themselves. Literally. Logically, one could not expect Phinks to think of an out, as the twins were running point, or, more specifically, Nyx, and in such situations it was nature to defer when you weren’t an utter prick. Logically, he should not be killing Phinks, as there was a delicate political balance going on here and Hisoka brutally murdering a troupe member would most certainly upset that balance.

Emotionally, he very much wanted to kill Phinks. If he had fangs, he’d like to imagine himself sinking them into his throat. The very first time Hisoka had entrusted the twins to someone and they had been _ injured. _ And Phinks had been in a position to _ stop it. _

It was hard to stop thinking of them as twelve year olds nowadays. The closer they got to victory, the more Hisoka frayed at the edges, because everything was going to get more and more dangerous. They would likely heal up in a week with proper treatment. This wouldn’t adversely affect them. They would be fine. Hypothetically. What was a few more scars? They had plenty.

And yet, this time they were going to have a fresh set definitively linked to someone that was _ not _ a corpse. Yes, yes, they were “adults”, but Hisoka at times refused to believe that. They were _ not. _No.

He realized he was blaming Phinks so much to avoid blaming himself, like he always blamed himself, but goddamn he couldn’t care enough to stop.

He’d calm down by the time they got back. He’d be composed. Knowing Nox and Phinks, Nox had likely warmed up to him at some point or another. It was inevitable, really. Enhancers and Conjurers always melded well to each other, even if Nox barely counted as such when attached to Nyx at the hip like they were. Even so, the only thing better than an Enhancer and a Conjurer was an Enhancer and a Transmuter. Everyone knew that. Probably because Enhancers and Conjurers both tended to cause even more chaos than necessary together, while Transmuters actually managed to tone them down.

Really, the fact that _ Nyx _had been the one to think of this hair brained plan and not Nox … He was almost disappointed.

In any case, he had bigger problems to deal with. Like the fact that Klaus was on his way.

Hisoka had texted him every day, deliberately keeping him in the dark about their location and who they were with. He had merely told him they’d been forced to go dark, and to please water Nyx’s plants, to which Klaus had replied that he had moved Nyx’s plants to his house because he did not have the time to be driving into the forest every other day to water them for them. Klaus loved to remind Hisoka that he was a busy man. He also loved to remind him that Hisoka was a bit of a burden. Hisoka was fine with that. Klaus still stuck around, after all.

But now he couldn’t keep him in the dark. He could already hear the lecture he would have to patiently endure about how this was stupid, dangerous, what about the twins, how Hisoka could possibly justify this to the “cause”, as Klaus called it. The headache was already starting to come in. It was a pain, really.

He wondered if he could convince the troupe members to clear out short notice so he could just lie to Klaus. Yes, that would _ certainly _go well.

“I need a drink,” Hisoka muttered to himself before he just gave up and sent the coordinates. This place didn’t have an address.

**Please don’t tell me you have the twins injured out in a field somewhere. Do you know how many infections they could get without access to clean running water?**

Hisoka sighed and dropped his head onto the desk with a low thunk.

**Don’t insult me. A field wouldn’t have nearly enough coverage.**

**Hisoka.**

**We are not out in the wilderness. It’s a manor. There’s no official address.**

**If there’s no official address how do you have electricity or water?**

**I don’t know. **That was actually a good question, how Chrollo had managed that. Hisoka would have to ask, as soon as he was done being irritated with him and everyone else in the manor.

**You’re lucky I’m important enough to have Pharmatix send me samples.**

**Yes, yes, I know, I’m a lucky man to have you. Don’t text and drive. You know what happens to doctors that text and drive.**

Klaus didn’t respond to that and Hisoka reflected on how he’d met him all those years ago. At the time, Klaus had been a promising new doctor, finishing up his degree in genetics. Hisoka had kidnapped him, actually. He’d only known about him through … No, he didn’t even think about that name anymore. Hisoka’s charms hadn’t worked on him, nor had his efforts to unnerve. Probably because he was threatening to kill him if he didn’t help him fix two beaten up, obviously molested twins. Klaus had actually had the nerve to call him a puppy. And, just like that, a weird friendship had bloomed between the lost twenty year old (almost twenty one, thank you) and the doctor.

It had been Klaus that figured out on a medical scale, a regular cure wouldn’t work. Their genetics were, as Hisoka suspected, partially influenced by Nen. How that mutation had happened and sustained through generations, Hisoka didn’t know, but they were Specialists. And, just like that, Klaus had decided to learn Nen. Just a simple decision. No fretting about it, no questioning it. He just learned Nen so he could understand their ability and “fix it”.

It took him a mere six months. Hisoka had almost been jealous. His training had started at eight, he hadn’t mastered the fundamentals until nine, and his hatsu took another year. Klaus had figured it all out in six months, and just kept going, accepting how remarkable he was at everything and moving on. Everything was easy for him, and Hisoka had initially hated him for it, because he could never be a target.

Then again, it made sense, him being an Enhancer. If Hisoka had learned anything in his years, it was that everything was easy for Enhancers. Except, maybe, common sense. Because while Klaus was admittedly brilliant in almost everything, that came at a price, as he was in fact a box of rocks.

The amount of times Hisoka had to rescue him was totalling at about seventeen now. Probably the most frustrating occurrence had been when Klaus had literally just let someone talk him into a car. He just got in. No questioning. No doubt. Just climbed right in. Idiot.

And, honestly, what Enhancer refused to punch people? Literally all Klaus _ did _ with those abilities he had learned so easily was enhance his serums. Why he couldn’t be more like Leorio, who was _ very _willing to punch people in front of cameras and everything? 

Klaus was aggravating, and when he arrived Hisoka had to be at least tipsy to deal with the _ morality. _Morality. Disgusting. Morality was for the beasts. He was a bare few hours away now, so Hisoka resolved to get on it.

The kitchen held a promising stash of hard liquor. Hisoka could not give less of a fuck who he was stealing from, opting for flicking the top off a bourbon and downing half of the bottle in one go. It burned down his throat, coating it evenly, not expensive enough to go down easy, but he didn’t care.

“Hisoka.”

Hisoka sighed, long and hard, and tilted his head back.

“Not now, Machi.”

“At least get a glass.”

“Glasses are for men who are concerned with their image, Machi, darling.”

“Is that doctor on his way?”

Hisoka decided that it was best to just finish off the bottle entirely. It was harder to get drunk the more you grew in Nen ability. On the plus side, it also meant that it was harder to kill your liver, relatively speaking. Not that Hisoka particularly cared either way.

“Yes. He’s on his way.”

Machi finally came up behind him and snatched the bottle from his hand before he could finish the last swallow. Locking eyes with Hisoka, she finished it for him, and tossed the bottle in the trash.

“My, Machi,” Hisoka purred. “I didn’t take you for the type to express dominance.”

Machi scoffed and grabbed a second bottle. The entire troupe was a mess of alcoholics at this point.

“I don’t need to.”

“Mmm. I suppose not. I always thought you were a top.”

“Switch.”

Hisoka blinked. Twice, actually.

“Machi, are you _ sharing _with me?”

“If you insist on getting drunk, I have to keep you away from Chrollo. I figure it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Hisoka’s bottom lip protruded rather dramatically and he slumped against the counter.

“You think I’m a violent drunk? You hurt my feelings.”

“No.”

“Oh, you think me too _ lecherous _to be denied? I’m honored. Truly.”

“No, I think you’re an idiot.”

Laughter rolled off Hisoka’s lips like water off a rock and he pushed himself off the counter. Look at Machi. Willingly being around him. What a pleasant surprise.

“You are _ such _a delight, darling.”

“I’m sure,” she replied, and why did everyone in the troupe _ say _that in the same flat tone? Who had even started it? Machi offered him the bottle and Hisoka took it, swallowing it down like the champion he was.

“You know, I have never seen you drunk,” Hisoka commenting.

“I’ve seen you drunk. And high.”

“You’ve seen me high, not drunk. And forced highs are _ very _different.”

Machi squinted at him briefly.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

Hisoka paused mid second swig. Remember what?

“Hm?”

Machi actually lifted her brows.

“When you first joined the troupe. We found you in a bar in Glam Gas Land like six months into it. Why did you think Chrollo let you just do whatever?”

Glam Gas Land … Hisoka squinted. He wouldn’t have had any reason to be there. When had he even joined the troupe?

“I assumed he just picked his battles wisely and didn’t think trying to yank me around was worth the effort.”

York New had been three years ago … He had been in the troupe for about a year at that point … So six months would have landed him at about four years ago. What had happened four years ago that drove him back to _ that _hellhole? And why was he drunk?

Oh._ Oh._

“So you really don’t remember.” Machi almost looked amused at the fact that she knew something he didn’t. He could allow her that. The alcohol was hitting to the point where he was a bit too lazy to care. Bourbon always did that to him. Hit fast, though draining a bottle and a half of the shit likely didn’t help, made him lazy and complacent and in the perfect mood to drown out Klaus’s needless prattling. He should probably start pacing himself.

“Mmm. Likely was unimportant enough to forget,” Hisoka replied dismissively. At least he wasn’t so tipsy he couldn’t lie. He had a habit of memory loss when illicit substances were involved.

“You were crying.”

Hisoka’s lips curled teasingly.

“I’m an emotional man.”

“You killed three people, one you were making out with, and started crying because they weren’t ‘him’.”

“I’ve been scorned by many a lover. You can’t expect _ me _ to control _ myself _.”

“It’s a lot harder to lie when someone knows your secrets, Hisoka.” Machi pulled two glasses out of the cabinet and poured him a drink, the bourbon sloshing over the edges, and pushed it to him with one finger. Hisoka’s twisted smile he didn’t really feel only grew.

“Machi, are you suggesting that I _ expose _myself?”

“I’m suggesting that contrary to your rather lewd suggestion, you are actually a master of self control and self containment, and the average scornful lover couldn’t possibly push you to such lengths, much less send you running home to get trashed.”

“Glam Gas isn’t my home.”

“Well, correction, then, sending you running _ away _from home to get trashed to probably the most traumatizing place you could think of.”

“Second.” Hisoka’s mouth moved before his brain. He’d blame it on the bourbon.

“Second?” Machi echoed.

“Second most traumatizing. I had already come from the first,” he corrected again. Yeah, he’d remembered. He didn’t like that. Part of the reason they recorded everything was so he didn’t _ have _to. Also, because, well, evidence. “We all make sacrifices. I just make more so the twins don’t have to.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Probably because at the end of the day, the twins were safe from the things he had to do, the lows he had to sink to. He’d done what he did so they didn’t _ have _ to. Instances that drove him back to Glam Gas Land, instances that bad, were the kinds of things they were shielded from, because they _ had _to be done. They just didn’t have to be done by them.

Silence passed for a moment, and Hisoka flipped on the charm. All over again. Mainly because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Come, now, Machi. I do _ hate _ to talk about unpleasant things over subpar bourbon,” he purred. He wasn’t feeling it, but she could never tell how _ little _ he was feeling it, how much he _ needed _ to talk about unpleasant things, how much he couldn’t. He couldn’t. There was no time for it. He was a coward, really, because the thought of actually _ doing _it was terrifying. Horrifying, even.

_ “You’ve gotten so big, Soka,” Papa purred as Hisoka and him danced in the dimly lit club. His hand rode up Hisoka’s back, pushing up Hisoka’s shirt, and Hisoka swallowed down the bile as he pushed back, forcing Papa to spin him and bring him back, tighter than ever. “I never thought it would be so _ gratifying _ to see you get so big.” _

_ “Ah, ah, but then there’s the tradeoff, dear Papa,” Hisoka purred. He wanted to run. He wanted to flee. “It’s not nearly as satisfying when I say no.” _

_ “Are you bargaining, Soka?” _

_ “Of course. A kiss for every secret. I’m _ bored, _ Papa. I want to kill.” _

_ “And you want me to name comrades I might be displeased with for you to hunt?” _

_ Hisoka’s fingers traced up his arm. _

_ “Mmm. You always know the _ best _ people to play with, Papa.” He had to do this. He had to. He had a vault of information to use, information attached to him, and the wall he’d hit wasn’t going to go away without Hisoka swallowing his bitter medicine. _

_ “Just a kiss for such information?” _

_ “Did you not teach me to tease?” _

The memory faded and he was back in the kitchen with Machi. Shit. He’d frozen. She hadn’t even replied. She was just studying him, picking him apart bit by bit, and Hisoka _ hated _it. Not even the twins knew where he got information from when they couldn’t get any further. And now it seemed Chrollo and Machi and who knew who else had stumbled on him in the aftermath of that information gathering, and Hisoka was vulnerable. Again. Always again.

“Would it take top shelf bourbon to get you to talk about unpleasant things?”

“No.” There was no use playing coy anymore. The realization that they had _ been there _was enough to put him off his groove for hours. Irritating.

“Who is he?”

“It’s unimportant.” Hisoka drained the glass and pushed it out for another. “He’ll be a corpse like the rest of them in a few months, anyways. Just harder to put down. That’s all that makes him special.”

“Seems like a lot makes him special, considering the levels of depravity he can push you to.”

“He doesn’t need to push. He’s an information source. I just happen to know where to push him to get that information out.” Hisoka’s lips burned, and it wasn’t from the bourbon. Machi studied him and then took mercy, pouring another glass.

“Harder to put down?”

“He has a very difficult Nen ability to deal with. That’s all.”

“If he’s a high value threat, we should probably know about it.”

“You won’t need to. I’m killing him myself.”

“So is he just a source of information to you? Is that what upsets you?”

Hisoka felt a laugh bubbling up. It was the liquor that prompted that crazed, cracked giggle to spill out.

“We were all raised by someone, weren’t we?” It was a joke, really. It was a very good joke, that he hadn’t taken his head from his shoulders yet, because he was _ information. _Valuable, valuable information, which made the mockery of an adoption so much more amusing to Hisoka, because now he understood what a real dysfunctional family looked like. He thought himself so important to Hisoka but he could never be what Hisoka had found. Twisted. Sick. He should be dead.

Machi was an enabler. She poured him another glass.

“And by pushing him, you mean …”

“Yes. That is exactly what I mean.” Hisoka wasn’t going to say it. He didn’t say it, nowadays. The words to describe it properly hurt, raked across his heart like a frayed violin bow. Discord, agony, what have you. He didn’t say the ugly words. He didn’t have a place for ugly in his world.

Machi as always was unperturbed by the unsaid declaration. That Hisoka had sunk to the lowest of lows to get what he wanted, crossed the boundaries that had been scrubbed away in his childhood over and over again, boundaries he had so carefully set back up and then trampled over again and again. She’d seen some shit. They both knew that. She’d done some shit. So her quiet acceptance of this other twisted aspect of Hisoka was just that: a quiet acceptance. It was a bit of a relief. To not see her react. Recoil. Treat him with pity, as if he needed pity. Pity was for those without a choice. Hisoka had one. He could walk away. And he didn’t. He could say he couldn’t all he wanted, but he _ could. _ He had all the power in the world, but it was worthless in his eyes if he didn’t _ finish. _And he refused to accept that which was worthless.

“You probably need to get drunk.” The glass was filled, all the way to the top, and Hisoka slammed it back like a shot.

“Tipsy. Klaus is going to be here soon and I was initially preparing for the lecture on morality.”

“Is he a good person?”

“Unbearably so, yes.”

“Good people never get it.”

Hisoka sighed and finally slid down to take a seat at the table. He was starting to warm up, just a little.

“That’s what makes them good people. It’s not in their wiring.” He let Machi top him off again. “Not like us. They just can’t be like us unless their wires get crossed.”

“You probably had your wires crossed.” Machi sat across from him and took a long swig of bourbon, content with the pace Hisoka’s self destructive tendencies were setting.

“Why do you say that?” Hisoka didn’t see how they were. He was the way he was.

“Because you aren’t like us,” Machi said flatly and set down her glass. “If you were, you wouldn’t be doing this. You’d be doing precisely what we do.”

Hisoka mulled over that for a moment. He supposed so, but then again …

“Then your wires must be getting crossed.”

Machi looked up, almost a little shocked.

“After all,” he continued, “you’re helping me, aren’t you?”

This bourbon was probably turning him into an idiot. But, even so, they both sat there, steeping in these recent revelations.

Hisoka had worried about what would happen to the twins if they pursued this path with the troupe. He honestly had not considered up until this point that the troupe could change a little, too. Just a little.

Odd. It almost made him a little happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To summarize after POV shifts, Hisoka texts Klaus to meet him at the manor. (Klaus is the twins' doctor, for a mild refresher.) He then decides to get slightly tipsy to deal with the inevitable moral lecture on why he should NOT be throwing in his lot with the troupe. Machi appears, and decides to start drinking with him. It is then revealed that Hisoka has sex with his adoptive father in order to gain information when the family hits a wall in investigation, typically in the form of his adoptive father sending him to kill someone that has displeased him. It is also revealed that he is a notorious blackout drunk and in the aftermath of such engagements he typically goes out to go on a high, drunk, and murderous bender in his hometown. Machi and Chrollo discovered him on such a bender, which is why Chrollo always allowed him to do as he wanted. The chapter ends with the realization that everyone is having their "wires crossed" into being strangely almost good people.
> 
> My apologies for not including the trigger warning in this chapter; I thought it was 32, where this will also be mentioned, with a recap of the events of this chapter.
> 
> I forgot my Friday upload so there will be a bonus chapter today! Sorry everyone! I saved it in my calendar so I don't forget again.


	31. The Wave and The Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ky'ia teaches Gon something new about Nen.

The twins had been gone for a week and Gon had been stuck with Hisoka. He really could not believe that Hisoka had trained the twins, because he was an  _ awful  _ teacher. Legitimately. Gon had had many teachers of note, and none of them had been this terrible. All of Hisoka’s feedback was literally useless when he was actually engaged, and when he wasn’t he just sat around on his phone doing ultimately nothing. The other percentage of the time was left with Gon strung up in a tree trying to figure out if he had good teachers after all.

Nox was able to make him  _ feel  _ Nen. Not Ren. They were able to evidently  _ share  _ with their twin, and Gon didn’t know how much of that was natural or taught. Hisoka had indicated that he’d taught them, and Ky’ia had called them the Morrows.

They didn’t look like Hisoka. Gon couldn’t figure out how Hisoka had just decided to adopt a pair of twins, or how he’d found them, or any of the mess he’d been dropped in. Ky’ia, as kind and patient as they were, revealed no information to him. He didn’t mind training next to Ky’ia, despite them being lightyears ahead of him. Even his rock paper scissors almost paled in comparison to what they could do. After all, how could you hit someone if you didn’t even know they were there? Granted, he wasn’t even sure what would happen when his Nen came back. He may not even be an Enhancer anymore. Who knew where life was going to take you?

“You’re not meditating very well,” Ky’ia said, breaking Gon’s concentration on literally nothing. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to work any of this out until someone told him what the fuck was going on.

“I am not very good at that sort of stuff,” Gon admitted and Ky’ia rapped a knuckle against his head.

“Not thinking or actually clearing your mind?”

“I’m very good at not thinking.”

Ky’ia laughed at that and offered a hand to him to help him up from the porch step.

“You seem to be very bad at it, seeing as you can’t stop.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be thinking a lot if you were me?” Gon dusted off the back of his shorts. “I got kidnapped by Hisoka Morrow because I overheard a conversation with Kurapika of all people that I  _ still  _ don’t understand, he randomly has siblings and they’re some weird twins, I get dragged to Chrollo Lucilfer’s mansion and for  _ some  _ reason they actually trust him, and they’re just kidnapping people left and right for no actual reason I can actually see. Oh, and they apparently consider whatever they’re doing important enough that Hisoka  _ actually  _ doesn’t want to fight my dad. Hisoka wants to fight everyone. It makes no sense. Oh,  _ and  _ they want me to lie to my dad.”

This was all very, very frustrating. He wanted to confront someone, but confronting Hisoka had only left him upside down in a tree, and the troupe was … still terrifying. Not people he ever wanted to meet again. He wasn’t going to be confronting any of  _ them.  _

“You should relax and accept things are out of your control.”

“Weren’t you kidnapped, too? Why aren’t you trying to get away?” Gon demanded, because that was another mystery. Ky’ia looked up at the mansion behind them and sighed.

“I found a cause, I guess, and that cause asks that I stay.” That made even less sense. How could someone as nice as Ky’ia find a cause with  _ these  _ people?

“How? How did you find a cause? Do you know what these people  _ are _ ?” Gon was so frustrated.

“Sometimes, the people and means don’t matter, just the result.”

“I don’t even know why I’m bothering with this! Nox makes no sense, Hisoka is an awful teacher, the twins just  _ ran off  _ and I am not  _ learning anything! _ ”

“Are you a visual person, Gon?” Ky’ia asked suddenly. The question threw Gon off considerably. What did that have to do with anything?

“What does that matter?”

“Will you let me use my hatsu on you?”

Gon blinked. Rapidly.

“You want to make me hallucinate? No!”

“I won’t hurt you,” Ky’ia said softly. “The condition of this hatsu is that I do not reach into anyone’s memories simultaneously. Reaching into memories can be painful to the unwilling, and even more so to those without Nen. You won’t see anything awful. But it could be good for me and you. I could practice intensifying the realism on someone I haven’t practiced on yet, and you could see something you need to see.”

Gon knew Ky’ia had some kind of ability that allowed them to erase memories and see memories. He still couldn’t figure out why they had been kidnapped for that, if the troupe clearly wasn’t forcing them to use it. He didn’t really want to trust them, but Killua’s voice in the back of his head reminded Ky’ia could literally do it anyways, and this whole thing could possibly be a hallucination anyways, and wasn’t  _ that  _ a nice thought?

“Okay, fine,” he agreed and Ky’ia just tilted their head to focus.

In an instant, he realized he was now in a hallucination, because his body was now pitch black. Literally pitch black. Gon gasped at the sight.

“I’m going to tell you something from my culture,” Ky’ia said. They were still there, in front of him. “You call them ‘nodes’. To my people, they have two words: chejah and chejoh. Loosely translated, they mean buds and blooms. They are flowers. You have to feed them. I believe Nox told you that you could think of it like a dam, so I suppose I can tell you to think of it like an ecosystem.”

Lines lit up along Gon’s shadowy body, bright and vibrant, glowing and multicolored, connecting to the nodes in the shapes of buds.

“I think you are a visual person. I am told you are what they call Enhancers. Types mean very little in my modern culture, but I will attempt to explain from the history I have. Traditionally, Enhancers in my society, when people still learned to use their spirit, were seen as those that watered the flowers because you can collect your spirit so well and pour it out. Your chejah are untended to, unwatered, unfed. You have not fertilized their soil. They have been through a long winter, in a manner of speaking, and they want to see spring.”

The lines across Gon’s body that he could feel, feel so similarly to his Nen, felt alive, began to throb like hoses with water pouring through. The buds began to open.

“You need to be gentle with them. Show your body that you are sorry for what you did to it, that you will take better care of it,” Ky’ia continued. “I believe you are afraid that you don’t have spirit now, but that would simply be an impossible oxymoron. You have spirit because you are living, are you not?”

The flowers bloomed and Gon felt a rush of power, but it was not a power like he remembered. It was gentle, in a way, pulsing, ebbing, soothing, cool. He realized that Ky’ia couldn’t replicate his experiences, so they were showing him what it felt like for  _ them. _

Wild mountain flowers, he realized. The blooms he rarely saw on Whale Island, designed for the cold and snow. Something Ky’ia knew very well, he was willing to bet.

There was a subtle shift, and then Gon was Gon again. He felt lightheaded.

He didn’t need to break through. Not even gently. He just had to nourish himself.

“That was … so cool!” He gasped. It had felt so  _ real!  _ He could have believed for a second that his body had always been a mass of shadow. Ky’ia smiled at him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, isn’t it? It scared me at first.”

“No way! Why?”

“I was worried I wouldn’t be myself when I learned it,” Ky’ia admitted. “Then I realized the … hatsu I had been taught as a child could be just as terrible, had been just as terrible as I thought this one could be. It’s all about what I choose to do with it.”

Gon tilted his head.

“The memory thing?”

“Yes. We retain the memories of our ancestors. It’s part of our culture.”

“Oh. That doesn’t sound terrible. Did the troupe make you take memories from someone?”

Gon was pretty sure that was the reason they were here. It made sense, after all.

“Yes. But even when I did that … terrible thing, something good came out of it, I think,” Ky’ia replied and turned for the porch. “After all, don’t the best things come out of adversity? It’s almost dinner. We should go in.”

Gon wasn’t looking forward to another silent, awkward meal with Machi, Chrollo, Hisoka, Feitan, and Nobunaga, who had just wandered in a few days ago and decided to stay to keep an eye on him.

“Hisoka’s friend Klaus will be here soon. I think the twins will be back tomorrow.” Ky’ia cast a glance over their shoulder. “You may like Klaus, I think. He’s like your friend … Leorio, I think you called him? The doctor?”

Gon hadn’t realized that Ky’ia was actually listening to him when he was filling the silence with talking about his friends while the twins were gone. It felt kind of nice.

“I don’t think Hisoka has any nice friends,” he said doubtfully, and Ky’ia laughed at that.

“I think Nyx once said every Transmuter needs an Enhancer.”

That hurt a little. He missed Killua. Keeping this secret from him was going to be hard. He couldn’t even text him; Hisoka had taken his phone. He was banned from any contact except thirty minutes after his call to Ging. The phone call that was supposed to take place tomorrow. He didn’t know what to do about that. He was awful at lying. Nox had attempted to coach him on it, emphasize telling half truths, but he knew he was going to fuck up.

He was ripped from his worries the second he entered the kitchen. It reeked of alcohol. Hisoka, who was normally cooking by now, and hadn’t  _ that  _ been a shock when he first saw it, was nowhere to be seen. It was empty.

There were four empty bourbon bottles in the trash. Was Hisoka getting trashed? Irritation rose in Gon again. Why weren’t the twins back already? This was hopeless. Hisoka was hopeless.

“Guess I’m cooking,” Ky’ia said after a long, awkward pause and moved for the fridge. “We only have … mm, Nobunaga left this morning, Kortopi doesn’t eat with other people, so Machi, Chrollo, me, you, Hisoka, and his friend to feed. How about a stir fry?”

“Hisoka is drunk,” Gon said flatly. Why had he thought any of this would work? The twins were gone, Hisoka was useless, and now he was getting trashed somewhere in the manor.

“Mmm, yes, that would make sense,” Ky’ia said calmly as they pulled out a large tupperware of marinated chicken. “Klaus is coming for a reason, after all.”

“Huh?”

“Oh. You thought Klaus was a fighter?” Ky’ia looked over at Gon. “He’s a doctor, one of the top uhh … geneticists? I think… yes, geneticist, on the continent.” They were so well spoken, so deliberate with their phrasing, sometimes Gon forgot being bilingual was hard. “He’s the twins’ only doctor. I think they got hurt. Not sure. Nyx hasn’t messaged me.”

“Can’t Machi just stitch them up?’ Gon was confused. Machi was here. Machi reconnected Hisoka’s arm once. She could probably fix anything.

“They have a condition that prevents Machi from being able to do her stitching,” Ky’ia replied. “That’s why Hisoka and Klaus are friends. Klaus can uh … fix? No, fix isn’t the word … Hm. Get rid of it, I suppose. They just don’t want to give it up, because it has cultural value, so Klaus stuck around to help them when they get hurt. From my understanding, at least. Want to help me chop?”

A bundle of veggies was pushed at Gon and he automatically started moving to wash them. Ky’ia pulled out two cutting boards and two knives and set to slicing up the chicken breasts.

“What condition?” Gon asked.

“Their story, not mine,” Ky’ia replied passively. “I hope they have a wok… Hm.”

Gon supposed it would be rude to push. One didn’t ask questions about disability unless the person, or people, offered. Mito had made that  _ quite  _ clear. And asking other people about it was just rude. Gossipy, even. One should never gossip.

“Are you worried?” Gon asked on impulse.

“About them?”

“Yes.”

Ky’ia hummed and looked out the window at the fading sun.

“No. Nyx promised they’d be back. They’ll be back and be just fine. I can’t imagine anything happening on a simple … reconnaissance, yes, mission, that would result in mortal injuries.”

“You have a lot of faith in them.”

“Of course I do. So should you.”

“Why?”

Ky’ia laughed and reached up with a non chicken juices covered hand to brush hair out of their eyes.

“Because at the end of the day, love can really conquer anything. Even death. And they aren’t so easy to accept something as mediocre as death.”

Mediocre. Strange word choice. That implied that there was something worse. Gon wanted to be mad, but he was just confused.

Ky’ia tilted their head.

“Someone is pulling up. I think Klaus is here. Find a wok and start heating it up for me, please, while I go fetch him.”

And just like that, after a quick hand wash, Gon was left alone to reflect on everything Ky’ia had shown him and told him.

Wing had said he and Killua were one in a million. If that was true, with this new understanding, he could manage it in a few days.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured it, a flower on the back of his hand. The hand that had punched and punched, two times larger, flowing with power he never wanted to taste again. Flowing with pain, pain he had forced himself through, pain he refused to let go until he ultimately nearly killed himself.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, because he was. He was sorry to Killua. He was sorry to Kite, to Knuckle, to Kurapika, to Leorio, to Ging, to Shoot, to everyone he had forgotten in his pain. And he was sorry to himself. Because Nox was right. He’d just tossed away his childhood and rushed into adulthood, unwilling to stop or back down, and he’d hurt himself deeply in the process.

He felt it. A murmur of resolve, a spark of power. Not like Ky’ia’s cooling presence at all, but warm, like the fireplace on a winter night.

And he smiled.

Yeah. It would take him a few days, but he’d manage it. He just had to be gentle.


	32. The Drunk and the Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka drowns his anxiety in bourbon, and Machi is an enabler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of sexual abuse, possible incest. Summary at the bottom.

Hisoka was very, very drunk. He had not expected Machi to be so irresponsible. (It was, in fact, his own fault, but Machi was a convenient enabling scapegoat.) And now here they were, in the drawing room, draped over the furniture with another two empty bourbon bottles discarded on the floor.

“Mmm. Machi?” His voice sounded so slow. It made him want to giggle.

“Mmm. Yeah?”

Hisoka slid so his long legs were thrown over the back of the couch and his head was resting on the ground.

“Do you think the twins will be okay?” He felt tears coming on at the thought of them being hurt. “They’re so stupid sometimes …”

“They’ll be fine,” Machi mumbled from the armchair.

“That is a very impressive lesbian manspread.”

“You are very drunk.”

It was hilarious, Machi accusing him, and he started laughing. Actually laughing.

“So are you!”

“Not as drunk as  _ you.  _ You’re a lightweight.”

“Why are you so mean to  _ me _ ?”

“You deserve it.”

“But you  _ like  _ me.”

“Yes.”

“Aha! I knew it!” Hisoka’s arms flung out to flop onto the floor with a thud. He needed to find a good manicurist in town. “I need mani pedis. We should get mani pedis.”

“You’re so fucking gay,” Machi groaned and slumped even lower in the chair, bottle of bourbon dangling from her fingers.

“I am an  _ artist.  _ And I am  _ not  _ gay. I’m bisexual, you uncultured swine.”

“Bah.” Machi waved her free hand. “You’re obnoxious is what you are.”

“And you’re  _ rude. _ ”

“S’fine.”

Hisoka, briefly, sensed someone approaching, and remembered all of a sudden that he was getting drunk for a  _ reason,  _ and Nen he had definitely gone overboard.

The door creaked over to reveal Ky’ia and Klaus standing there, and Hisoka considered getting up for a brief moment, and then realized his positioning and decided that was objectively not a good idea.

“Hello, Klaus,” he said cheerfully. “You came.”

“And you got drunk,” Klaus stated flatly and paced forward to stand over Hisoka, looking down at him with that  _ very  _ familiar expression. Hisoka crinkled his nose.

“You smell like the hospital.”

“I was in a rush. Why are you drunk with a literal Spider?”

“I was preparing myself for the lecture when you figured out we all decided to be murder friends.”

Klaus was very tall. He wasn’t all legs, like Hisoka, but very generously proportioned. A solid rock of muscle, with dark skin and carefully groomed curly hair, he was definitely a treat to look at. Hisoka had looked a lot. He had not looked from this position before. It was a pity, really, that Klaus knew all of his secrets. No romance existed between them, but he would have been fun for a fling. He was just too nice for Hisoka to even let any feelings blossom, too different from Hisoka.

Klaus looked over his shoulder at the slumped over Machi.

“You’re Machi,” he stated, as if it was fact. Well, it was. “Could you give us the room?”

Machi groaned and lurched to her feet. It took her just a moment to gather herself into a semblance of imitated sobriety.

“Have fun, Hisoka,” she said and swept for the door, Ky’ia on her heels.

“Bye, Ky’ia! I hope Nyx texts you!” Hisoka didn’t know why he said that. The only one here worried was him. There was a brief musical laugh, and the door shut.

“You’re a mess,” Klaus said after a long, awkward pause. Hisoka just smiled up at him, lazy, slow.

“Aren’t I always?”

“Was the bourbon necessary?”

“Is  _ anything  _ I do necessary?”

“Your blood is going to rush to your head like that. Get up.”

“No.”

Klaus sighed, long and low, and bowed to Hisoka’s whim, like he always did. The man sunk down next to him, lifting one of Hisoka’s arm and flopping it into his lap. Gentle fingers ran over his skin, inspecting on instinct, checking for injuries.

“You’ve got some fresh scars here,” Klaus commented as he prodded at the ring around Hisoka’s right wrist, where Hisoka had yanked a little too hard on the cuff.

“Mmm. I do,” Hisoka confirmed. He always scarred so easily, never really bothered with scar cream for it. The twins healed up far more easily than him.

“Want to explain about the murder friends thing, and why the twins are headed back  _ here _ , which I assume is their hideout?”

Hisoka huffed out a sigh and grabbed Klaus’s hand, dragging it over to run through his loose hair. He hadn’t been styling it lately more than a ponytail. His scalp was crying at the release from his plethora of product.

“Edwin’s trap worked and didn’t.” Explaining this right now was  _ hard.  _ His brain was fuzzy. “He hired Chrollo and Machi to catch them. I couldn’t let be, so I got caught instead so they got away.”

“And that led to all of this … how?”

“I don’t know.” Hisoka practically purred as Klaus scratched right at that special spot that sent tingles up his spine. “I have no idea what I’m doing right now, or what they want, really want, or why Chrollo is so  _ weird.  _ But they have okay liquor, so, meh.”

“You say that like they offered to help.”

“They  _ did _ !” Hisoka wanted to sit up, but he was so comfortable like this. “Chrollo did! After he dug around in my brain!”

Klaus’s fingers stopped scratching and he looked down at Hisoka in confusion.

“Dug around in your brain?”

“Ky’ia,” Hisoka said and ineffectually flapped his hand around. “Lover kid. Sweet on Nyx. Very sweet on Nyx, poor dear. Their birthday is tomorrow. They can do that. Got kidnapped for it.”

“By dig around in your brain, do you mean like telepathy or actual brain surgery?” Klaus’s fingers were moving with purpose now and Hisoka pouted. He was so stupid.

“No, no brain surgery, stupid. Telepathy. Sort of.”

Klaus’s fingers stopped and Hisoka reached up to poke, demanding he continue. It was so rude of Klaus to be so stupid and easily startled. Obligingly, he continued, and Hisoka let his eyes slide shut in contentment.

Really, he actually hated lying to Klaus. He would never admit that in any other circumstances. So this was a bit of a relief.

“So they ripped some memories out of you, kidnapped and probably beat the shit out of you, and then offered to help.”

“They are very protective of Meteor City.” It sounded unconvincing, now that Hisoka said it out loud. “Having us cooperate is more efficient than bumbling around trying to replicate our success.”

“Right.” Klaus also sounded unconvinced.

“I don’t know. Chrollo is weird and makes no sense. He won’t even let me go out in the  _ field  _ anymore. Can you imagine? How disrespectful is that?”

Klaus squinted down at him.

“And you’re letting him tell you what to do?”

“He threatened to pull out if I didn’t,” Hisoka explained and his bottom lip protruded. “It’s probably his own punishment for … me being me. But s’fine. I can handle it. I still get what I want.”

“I’m not sure that qualifies as punishment. Did he see your memories?”

“Yes. They’re all  _ unbearably  _ rude, Klaus. Really.”

“So is Nox.”

“Yes, and they’re making them  _ worse.  _ Honestly. You know what they said to me the other day?”

Klaus looked like he wanted to laugh at Hisoka. How very rude. But, he was scratching Hisoka’s scalp, so he could forgive it for now.

“What did they say?”

“They told me my skincare routine wasn’t working!”

“Is it rude if it’s an honest observation?”

“That is the worst kind of rude, Klaus, and you know it. I’m not getting wrinkles.”

Klaus’s hand disengaged from Hisoka’s hair to rub between his brows.

“Maybe a few stress lines.”

“Don’t you  _ dare. _ ”

“You are too good at avoiding consequences, Hisoka. Did you get drunk so I couldn’t lecture you?”

“... No.”

“Liar.”

“Always.”

Klaus went back to scratching at his scalp and sighed quietly. Hisoka reached up to push up the glasses that were sliding down the bridge of his nose.

“Why are you always a mess?” Klaus asked quietly. “Is this really worth it? You know who they are better than anyone.”

“You know, Phinks carries Kleenex for Feitan,” Hisoka said on instinct. “He gets nosebleeds. Nyx told me.”

“They only care about each other, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Klaus was unimpressed. Hisoka, personally, thought it was rather sweet, but whatever.

“Bono has a wife in his tribe,” Hisoka insisted. “Machi doesn’t tell anyone, but we all know she knits blankets for the kids in the city.”

“Hisoka, I’ve never known you to feel like you  _ have  _ to justify something. You just do it, and expect everyone else to understand.”

“If they help, we have more bodies on the ground, more skilled people who just need a little training and reprogramming gathering information.” Hisoka didn’t know what he was leading up to. “We finish  _ faster.  _ We can finish faster.”

“Hisoka,” Klaus said quietly. “You need to stop cutting corners.”

Hisoka knew that Klaus knew. He knew that he knew because Klaus  _ always  _ knew when Hisoka returned from breaking down a wall. He knew him too well and it scared Hisoka sometimes.

“But if we finish they can …” Hisoka trailed off. Klaus was his best friend. His confidant. His trusted ally, knowledgeable enough, but removed enough that Hisoka could see him as an anchor for him and the twins. “I have to.”

Klaus’s fingers stilled again and he looked down at Hisoka. Waiting. He was always so patient, when he was disapproving. So kind to Hisoka, but so unbending. Hisoka shifted his arms, pulling himself up, struggling to his hands and knees so he could loom right in Klaus’s face, inches away.

“You know, Klaus,” Hisoka said, begging Klaus in his own way to acknowledge it, face it, so Hisoka didn’t have to say it. Klaus didn’t say anything. Quietly, under all of the liquor, a tiny voice of sobriety reminded Hisoka that he  _ had  _ to say it. That was how this worked. If he wanted Klaus to understand, and he did, he did so much, he didn’t want to lose him, he had to say it. “The faster we finish, the faster they can be  _ finished.  _ They can be  _ happy,  _ and I can be happy. Because you  _ know. _ ”

“I know what?” Klaus asked quietly, pushing Hisoka to say it, and Hisoka briefly felt lightheaded. He drank too much.

“I was going to quit,” Hisoka said. He really could only say this when he was drunk, admit his shame, admit his love in one go. “I was going to quit when I found them. I was gonna just … give it all up. But I knew it. I knew them. They weren’t going to. So I had to help them finish.” He had told Klaus this once, in the six years he’d been yanking him around on his adventure, dragging this man into his chaos. Once, when he was blazed and drunk and crying after another wall breaking.

“Is this corner worth it to you, Hisoka?” Klaus was deadly serious, and Hisoka realized for the millionth time he’d follow him into hell. It was always a shock, every single time.

“They are  _ all  _ worth it,” Hisoka hissed, and his body failed him. He pitched forward, face buried in Klaus’s lap, and the hand returned to his hair to gently scratch at his scalp.

“Alright then,” Klaus said softly. “I don’t agree. But I’ll be on call.”

“Okay,” Hisoka mumbled into his lap. He wasn’t sure if he should cry or laugh. His body felt weird. Emotions always felt weird.

“You probably will barely remember, but I brought the TwoSkin. There’s enough to last for a few months if they don’t get really banged up. I don’t know if I can get more.”

“S’fine. Machi may figure it out by then,” Hisoka muttered.

“That kinda makes me feel stupid.”

“You  _ are  _ stupid. You’ll get in any car if the sob story is good enough.” Klaus could probably only hear about half of that, but whatever. 

“Sorry I care about people,” Klaus grumbled. So he heard enough.

“Someone’s gotta.”

The door creaked open again and Hisoka lifted his head with a groan. His vision was blurred at this point, but he was 99% certain that was Chrollo standing there. Yep. It was Chrollo. And he looked … Strange.

His hair was down. That was it. And he was looking at Hisoka like he could kill him.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Chrollo said shortly. “Are you going to introduce me to my guest?”

Hisoka groaned and dropped his head into Klaus’s lap again, who was looking between him and Chrollo like he was seeing something. Whatever. Klaus was always trying to go overboard trying to notice things. All his brain power seemed to be used up for dealing with Hisoka’s moods and genetic science nonsense.

“I’m Klaus. Hisoka is drunk. He gets clingy when he’s drunk,” Klaus offered and nudged Hisoka, trying to get him up. “Apologies. I went to see him first because Ky’ia said he’d been drinking.”

Hisoka groaned and reached forward to clamp down on Klaus’s leg, forcing it still. Klaus sighed, frustrated.

“Hisoka. You need water. Let me up.”

“Water is for flowers,” Hisoka muttered. Klaus always had the best quality jeans. They were always so soft.

“And drunks.”

“Hisoka,” Chrollo cut in, “I think you should let him get you some water.”

“Fuck you.” Hisoka tilted his head to glare up at Chrollo with one angry yellow eye. “You confusing, irritating little man.”

Chrollo’s brows slowly raised and he and Klaus seemed to exchange some sort of glance. Hisoka could barely care enough to try to figure out why Klaus was giving him that trademark warning glare he reserved for boys following Nox around at the movies.

“Watch your tone, Hisoka,” Chrollo said carefully and the liquor surged to Hisoka’s brain, forcing him to sit up and glare at him.

“Or what? You’ll make Ky’ia get in my head again?” Hisoka hissed. Klaus winced next to him, but Hisoka couldn’t be fucked to care. “Get me high? Get me more drunk so I can show you  _ more  _ secrets you won’t even tell me you saw? That it? Track me down to Glam Gas so you can see me fucking  _ fucked up  _ when no one else can? That it?”

Chrollo was silent and Hisoka was suddenly so pissed at him for never mentioning it, for always knowing, for letting him act up out of  _ pity.  _

“Is that it? Why you let me do what the fuck ever? Because you  _ pitied me _ ?” Hisoka snarled and tried to struggle to his feet.

“Hisoka, you need to stop,” Klaus warned, reaching out to grab at him. Hisoka shrugged him off. All of those warm fuzzy feelings had dissipated in the face of Chrollo and he could not care to stop. It wasn’t like he’d remember, anyways. He was a notorious blackout drunk. Couldn’t remember shit the next day. It was in part a choice, probably. Alcohol removed your inhibitions, and none of his inhibitions allowed him to forget things. No, he remembered everything he could.

“Stop?” Hisoka choked on a laugh. “Why the fuck would I  _ stop _ ? Huh?”

He couldn’t get to his feet, but whatever. Chrollo could hear him from right here, on his knees in Chrollo’s drawing room.

“Is that why you won’t let me leave? Because you  _ pity  _ me?” Hisoka didn’t know how to stop. “Pity is for people who can’t  _ choose.  _ I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing. I killed my parents in that fucked up city, you know.”

Klaus knew. Now Chrollo did, too.

“I may have another sibling somewhere,” Hisoka growled. “Had. Mom was pregnant with them when she fucking sold me and my useless ass. Nowhere to be seen when I went back to finish the fucking job.” He didn’t really care, honestly. How could he care about someone he had never met, buried in a mass grave somewhere if their records were anything to go off of? If she didn’t miscarry, that was. He didn’t know why he was telling Chrollo this.

“Two lives for two lives. Pretty fucking fitting for Twin Cities.” Gravity was trying to claim him, but he struggled against it.

“I knew what I was fucking doing. I knew it, always knew it, and I  _ chose  _ it. So fuck your  _ pity. _ ”

Chrollo was just staring at him and Klaus on the floor. Klaus was silent. He was always silent when Hisoka got like this, let him go until he broke and gave in and got it all out of his system. The same way Hisoka handled the twins. Hisoka had probably learned it from him. He didn’t deserve Klaus, really. He didn’t know why he stuck around like this.

Oh, damn. There were the tears again. He remembered now. He cried when he was drunk. He was a crier. He wanted a hug.

“I couldn’t pity you,” Chrollo said softly. “You don’t pity a hurricane.”

“That makes no  _ sense _ !” Hisoka was sick of it. Sick of Chrollo and his word games, his toying, his pressing, his secrets. The tears were really spilling now, tracking through facepaint and letting mascara run down his cheeks. “You never make any sense!”

“I don’t pity you,” Chrollo repeated. “I want to protect you.”

If Hisoka had looked, he would have seen the look of confirmation on Klaus’s face, but he missed it because he was too busy dealing with the emotional thunderbolt in his chest.

“I don’t need fucking  _ protection _ !”

“No. You don’t,” Chrollo agreed. “But you’ll have it anyways. Whether you like it or not.”

“Well I  _ don’t  _ fucking like it! Why do you have to  _ lie _ ?”

“I’m not.”

“ _ No one wants to protect me! _ ” Hisoka was nearly screaming now, and Klaus reached to grab his wrist. Warm. Hisoka let him ground him, like he always did, and the tears kept coming.

“I do,” Chrollo said shortly, and turned to walk out. “I can see you aren’t up for dinner. I’ll get you some water.”

Hisoka’s carefully crafted world was crashing down again, and a sob worked up as the door shut. Klaus pulled him close, half dragging Hisoka into his lap, and let him hide his face in his shoulder.

“Just calm down,” Klaus rumbled, his warm baritone soothing over Hisoka’s hurting soul. “Just calm down.”

A hurricane. Chrollo had called him a hurricane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew this was a RIDE! Thanks for sticking with. To summarize, Hisoka and Machi get drunk off their asses. Hisoka is a notorious blackout drunk, and in the chapter 30 we see him learn the reason Chrollo always let him do as he wished was because he discovered him in the aftermath of "breaking a wall". Breaking a wall is when the family hits a rut in investigation, and Hisoka goes to his source to be given a new target. His source is his adoptive father from the circus. It is heavily implied that in order to gain information Hisoka trades sex, and his adoptive father gives him someone acting out as a target to kill. In the aftermath of these events, Hisoka disappears on murderous benders, and Chrollo and Machi found him in the midst of one in the middle of one. And then Klaus shows up and Hisoka reveals that he was going to give up before he found the twins, and the only reason he has continued is to help them finish. Klaus forgives him for involving himself in the troupe again, and Chrollo appears to call Hisoka to dinner. At first there seems to be a misunderstanding that Hisoka is romantically involved with Klaus, and Hisoka accuses Chrollo of pitying him, to which Chrollo replies that one does not pity a hurricane. Hisoka misses dinner, and the chapter ends.


	33. The Synthetic Man and the Bleeding Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo and Hisoka have a conversation over bacon.

Hisoka awoke with a groan. Bright sunlight was streaming in, hitting his eyes from between the slats of the blinds. His head ached with all of the fury of roughly three bottles of bourbon. His eyes blurred, and then refocused on the bottle of water on the nightstand. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, and even longer to realize there was a warm body in the bed next to him. He caught a good whiff of antiseptic and the tension that had built up bled out of his pores.

He was in Chrollo’s manor. Klaus had apparently stayed the night in the bed next to him. Hisoka almost felt bad. Klaus had to call in sick for this. Not that he really dealt with the regular hands on approach nowadays. Most of the time he was cooped up in a lab, seeing patients sparingly. Even so. He had important work.

Klaus was sleeping heavily, glasses left haphazardly on the nightstand, and Hisoka sat up. At some point or another his pants had gone missing. He must have been very, very drunk. Not that it was embarrassing to be half naked in bed with Klaus. Occasionally, Klaus had stayed over, and there wasn’t a guest bed. He had migrated to Hisoka’s bed as opposed to the couch over time. Probably after the fifth kidnapping attempt, actually, when they had actually had to stay in hotels while Hisoka was trying to get him home. It was natural now.

They had a very weird relationship.

How had he gotten so drunk? He was only supposed to be tipsy. He vaguely recalled Machi showing up and everything snowballing and …

_ “You don’t pity a hurricane.” _

Hisoka nearly fell out of bed. Fuzzy, distant, but he could still feel the tears pouring down his face as he  _ screamed  _ at Chrollo.

Chrollo had been in Twin Cities four years ago. He had seen him in the very bar his biological mother used to work in. How had Hisoka forgotten?

Copious amounts of liquor with a smattering of cocaine, probably.

Hisoka’s gut twisted.

_ “You’ll have it anyways.” _

Why couldn’t he forget this one?

Bare feet padded into the bathroom, where a used makeup wipe was still on the counter. Klaus was always so thoughtful. Knowing Hisoka, he had probably wanted to skip it.

Hisoka reeked of sweat and liquor. With a groan, he turned on the shower and grabbed his facewash to just take with him. Clothes were stripped, left in a mess on the ground, and he stumbled under boiling hot water. He didn’t even bother with tucking his hair into a cap.

How was he going to fix this one? How was he going to … How was he … 

_ “You move to wreck things way too quickly.” _

Hisoka wanted to  _ kill.  _ He wanted to kill, and that was going to fix his problems, because he could not keep having meltdowns around Chrollo and expect this to work out. Chrollo was the problem here, and problems needed to be eliminated.

_ “No one wants to protect me!” _

_ “I do.” _

He was lying. He was lying right to Hisoka’s face, and it wasn’t funny when he did it. It wasn’t amusing. It wasn’t a precursor to some big game. He was lying, and Hisoka could not understand why. What was the benefit here? What was he going to gain from this game? Idle entertainment? A feeling of satisfaction at having once again mastered something that belonged to someone else? Was that it? Was he simply using Hisoka’s greatest strength against him? Insidious deceit?

Hisoka mechanically began to wash his face. One, two, three, four, all the way to sixty. He needed to control something. He needed to take control. How was he going to do that when Chrollo had already seen him losing his fucking shit? How had Hisoka broken  _ control  _ so  _ violently?  _ Hisoka didn’t break control like that. Even when he was pretending to lose it, even when he was sucked so deep in the character that it seemed impossible to get out, he did. Not. Lose. Control.

What was happening to him? Why could Chrollo do this to him?

_ Why was he losing? _

Hisoka’s shoulders shook as he rinsed the wash from his face. It was fine. This was just another roadblock. He knew how to deal with roadblocks he couldn’t kill. Assert control. Slip back into character. Contain himself. Act out, move unpredictably, keep Chrollo guessing.

This was fine. Chrollo wanted to play? Fine. Hisoka was a fine playmate.

He set to washing his body, scrubbing away the alcohol scented sweat and grime. He should really be shaving and exfoliating, but whatever. He could do it later. His head hurt too badly right now to deal with it.

He probably stayed in the shower too long. He was getting wrinkly.

Just act like nothing was wrong. Hell, he could even pretend he had no recollection of the day before. Yes. He would do that. Just act like nothing was wrong, everything was fine.

His eyes still burned from crying.

He was hungry.

And he had Gon to deal with. He’d almost forgotten about the brat. There was no way he didn’t know Hisoka had made an ass of himself. He was going to be insufferable today. “Why did you get drunk, Hisoka.” “You suck at teaching, Hisoka.” “Bisky was better, Hisoka.”

Annoying little fuck. All of that potential, wasted. Hisoka hated that he could sympathize with him. He’d been willing to die once, too, and it was beyond aggravating that now he couldn’t figure out how to act around Gon.

He should probably check his phone, see where Phinks was. He had been faithful enough in text updates, cutting it close a few times when he lost service, but good enough. They would probably arrive in the evening.

Having the twins on so many medications was a gamble. They had trouble coagulating most of the time, so when they had deep injuries it had dire consequences. Phinks had caught on. Klaus would likely order them off everything but the oxycodone for a week. It was almost disconcerting how easily Hisoka could predict medical decisions nowadays.

Hisoka climbed out of the tub and dried off, moving to moisturize and run through his morning skincare routine. Toner, let dry and absorb, moisturizer, go get dressed while he waited for that to soak in so he could put on spf. Hisoka had very few real routines in life, so this was the one he clung to like he would dissolve if he didn’t have it.

Klaus was only beginning to wake up after Hisoka put on his spf. The poor man’s biological clock had never reset after his time on the floor as a resident in the ER. He sat up with a groan and rubbed at his head. His hair was completely fucked.

“Morning,” Hisoka said from the bathroom. Should he do makeup today, or would it look like he was trying too hard to cover up his dark circles? Klaus grunted briefly as he pushed on his glasses and looked around for his backpack on the floor. “I’m going to make breakfast. Can you get to the kitchen okay on your own?”

“Yeah,” Klaus muttered as he padded into the bathroom. Hisoka reached and absentmindedly pulled at a tight coil of hair.

“Spray bottle is under the sink if you need to fix that mess.”

“I forgot my shea butter…” Klaus muttered distantly.

“I’m sure you’ll survive for one day,” Hisoka replied dryly. “I have argan oil if you want to use that instead.”

Klaus sighed and rubbed at his eye. He was not a morning person. It was one of the reasons the twins had warmed up to him so quickly. There had been many mornings spent with Hisoka making the coffee and smoothies while the three of them sat in silence around the kitchen table, ready to start growling at a moment’s notice. Misery did love company.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and stumbled over to the shower before pausing. “You ok?”

Hisoka blinked.

“Of course. Why?”

Klaus turned and stared at him.

“I’d say you’re a bad liar, but you’re not. You’re just a bad liar with me.”

Hisoka let a puff of air escape his nostrils.

“I’ll survive. When have I not?”

“He loves you,” Klaus blurted, and Hisoka sighed.

“You’re still very naive, Klaus,” Hisoka warned. “He wants something. So, as far as anyone is concerned, I don’t remember a thing.”

“I’m not naive, Hisoka. You’re just paranoid.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Hisoka said sharply, sharper than he intended. “He doesn’t want to protect me, he doesn’t want to keep me safe, keep me bundled away from myself, he doesn’t want to help. He wants something. Men always want something.”

Klaus pursed his lips and then sighed. Hisoka hated that sigh. It was the “Hisoka is wrong but this is a losing battle so whatever” sigh.

“If you say so. I’m not too keen on you responding the same, anyways, so if you want to believe that, sure. He wants something.”

Klaus turned back and turned on the shower. For all Klaus’s acknowledgment of his own defeat, Hisoka felt like he had lost that one. Then again, it always felt like that.

“I’ll see you in the kitchen,” Hisoka said quietly and left Klaus to his shower.

It was still very early. No one else was up yet, so Hisoka had the kitchen to himself as he started to brew coffee and pull out eggs, bacon, and potatoes. Normally he’d make a smoothie and call it a day, but if he knew anything it was that hot grease cured all manners of hangovers.

The leftovers of the stirfry Ky’ia had made last night were still sitting in the fridge. He very consciously ignored them. It was a pity he hadn’t gotten to try their cooking while it was fresh. He had a feeling they were naturally a very good cook.

“You’re a very good cook.” Chrollo snuck up on him. Again. Why did he insist on doing that? “I was almost surprised.”

Three times now. Hadn’t Hisoka promised him after the first it wouldn’t happen again?

“Mmm?” Hisoka paid closer attention to his eggs. Eggs were always so delicate.

Chrollo moved closer in from the doorway. He was still in sleep pants and an oversized gray shirt. Hisoka remembered wearing that shirt. It was very soft. It had actually come down to his wrists, despite the size difference.

“I figured with the twins, you’d be good at smoothies, not solid foods.”

“I had to fend for myself for a very long time,” Hisoka said quietly. Why was it getting harder to lie to Chrollo? He was trying to work himself up to it, but it felt impossible. “Life is approximately ten times worse when you’re alone and can’t make good food. Also, they can eat solids. On special occasions. It’s just a choking hazard. So naturally I have to make it worth it.”

Chrollo’s eyes fell on the pans in front of Hisoka. Bacon already cooked and under a mound of paper towels to stay warm, potatoes sizzling in the leftover fat.

“How does he take his eggs?”

“Klaus?”

“Who else would I be referring to?”

“Over easy. He likes to mix the yolk with the starches.” There was a flicker in Chrollo’s aura, a taste of an ugly emotion pushed down and to the side.

“You two seemed very close.”

“Did we?” Hisoka didn’t glance over, balancing at the precipice. “I suppose we are.”

“You said there was nothing romantic.” He sounded accusatory. Hisoka ignored it.

“My, my, we didn’t seem  _ that  _ close, did we? How scandalous.” A jibe. A tease. Skirting around the topic. He could do this.

“You did.” Chrollo seemed dead serious. He was a lovely actor, really.

“Mmm. We are quite close,” Hisoka confirmed. How to play this off? If Chrollo saw Klaus as a roadblock, he could just kill him. If Hisoka revealed too much, though, that would mean he remembered the night before. “I am rather clingy with people I’m close to when I’m drunk. After all, I am what they like to call an ‘attention whore’. Or so I’m told.”

“You’re told that you’re an attention whore?” The slur sounded lovely coming from Chrollo’s lips. A pity Hisoka would never let himself hear it in the bedroom. Oh, well. It was Chrollo’s own fault for playing games.

“I’m told I’m clingy.”

“You don’t think you are?”

Hisoka hummed and shrugged and stirred up the potatoes. They were getting to be a nice golden brown, and his scrambled eggs were nearly done.

“I wouldn’t know, really. I’m what they call a ‘blackout drunk’. Just  _ terrible _ , really. I’m sure I would have some lovely memories otherwise.”

Emotions flickered across Chrollo’s face. Relief, disappointment, then careful impassivity. My, my. What a lovely show for Hisoka. He was almost flattered at the attention to detail, all for his benefit.

“Does that mean you don’t remember last night?”

Hisoka raised an eyebrow and cast Chrollo a sidelong glance.

“Should I? Was I  _ scandalous _ ?”

“In a manner of speaking. You were crying.”

Hisoka sighed, long, loud, just to drive home the point.

“Well, naturally. I am a dramatic beast, after all.”

“I wouldn’t call it dramatic.”

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings?” Hisoka expertly slid the eggs out onto a plate and scraped out the leftover bits so he could re oil the pan and start up Klaus’s eggs. He took fairly fast showers. He’d be down soon enough.

“No.”

“Mmm. Well then I would hate to see you actually try.”

Chrollo looked frustrated. Hisoka didn’t know how to interpret that. Did he not believe Hisoka? Was he playing it up? Very unlike him to let his prey know they were frustrating him if he was playing this sort of game with them. Then again, Hisoka was thinking as Hisoka, not Chrollo. Perhaps he had different methods. Hisoka would just have to trust his own.

“Why would I want to hurt your feelings?”

“Please, Chrollo. Sadist recognizes sadist. I’d try myself, if you had any.” That felt like too harsh of a lie. It tripped over his tongue as it slid out, and he cursed himself internally for the slip. Hopefully Chrollo didn’t catch it.

Chrollo did. Hisoka saw it, in the way his eyes barely narrowed.

“Hisoka,” Chrollo said and tilted his head. Hisoka felt the En expand over him, envelop him briefly, and he struggled to maintain his cool as he cracked in the first egg with one hand, then the second and third.

“Yes?”

“Are you from Glam Gas Land?”

“Of course. Are you running a lie detector test on me, hm?” It was smart. If you had enough control, En could pick up fluctuations in heartbeat, Nen, breath, sweat. It wasn’t perfect. Someone as highly trained as Hisoka couldn’t be beat out by heartbeat or sweat. Nen, however, rarely lied, so Hisoka strove to keep his as fluctuating and chaotic as possible as often as he could so it would be virtually impossible to pick up.

“Yes. Did the twins kill Trask?”

“Yes. It won’t work.”

“I can be the judge of that. Is your hair naturally red?”

“Yes. I am telling you. Plenty of people have tried. It doesn’t work.”

“I can tell. They weren’t me. Are you really a blackout drunk?”

“Yes. And you are  _ far  _ too confident in your abilities. You can beat me in anything else. You can’t beat me in this.”

“Do you really not remember last night?”

“Yes. I have no reason to lie.”

Hisoka felt the En thicken around him, intensifying, bordering close to Ren, and Chrollo tilted his head again.

“But you do,” Chrollo said softly. “Your aura. You keep it chaotic, don’t you?”

“I  _ am  _ chaotic.”

“It was synthetic.”

Time froze for Hisoka. His eyes fell on the eggs and he robotically turned them, his brain registering that they were ready. Chrollo kept staring at him. Hisoka didn’t know what to do. He legitimately didn’t know what to do.

“That doesn’t mean much of anything,” Hisoka said. Pathetic. He was pathetically clinging to  _ what _ ? “Almost everything about me is synthetic. That doesn’t prove your theory.”

Chrollo was still winning. Hisoka was fraying.

“You are right. Ordinarily, I couldn’t beat you.” The praise was high, given who Chrollo was, but it fell flat. “I wouldn’t have caught that ordinarily, had you been the you I first met.”

Hisoka’s throat was dry. He needed coffee and some tylenol.

“But something you don’t realize is that I am very, very invested in seeing when you’re hurting.”

“I’m not hurting.” Last night hadn’t hurt him. He was fine. He was always, always fine.

“Then why did you lie?” Chrollo asked softly. Hisoka wanted to deck him. When had it turned into a simple punch? Had he not wanted to rip out his throat just a few days ago?

“Men always want something.” Why was he telling the  _ truth _ ? Why was he letting Chrollo pull this out of him? “And you are nothing but a man.”

Chrollo studied him with painfully devoid eyes. Hisoka ignored them, pressed on the yolk with the tip of the spatula to test for give. They were ready. He slid them onto the second plate.

“Are you afraid?”

Hisoka wanted to laugh at him. He wanted to tease, to pull, to push.

“What could I possibly have to fear from you?”

“That someone could see you for what you are and love you for it.”

Hisoka snorted. It was a natural reflex, though his brain was spinning at how sadistic Chrollo really was. This was sadism. The alternative was simply not an option.

“I don’t need someone to love me for what I am. There’s enough for three. How do you take your eggs?” Serious, casual. Keep Chrollo on his toes.

“Just because you don’t need something doesn’t mean you can’t want it.”

Someone already tried, Hisoka wanted to say. Someone already died for it, he wanted to say.

“I don’t need anyone’s love,” Hisoka said shortly. “How do you take your eggs?”

Chrollo seemed to realize this was a losing battle and conceded. Relief hit Hisoka in the chest as Chrollo took a step back. He hadn’t realized he’d been so close.

“Scrambled.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Hisoka didn’t feel better, but his mood managed to brighten when Klaus shuffled into the kitchen and immediately got coffee.

It soured almost immediately as he realized that he trusted Chrollo to not kill Klaus. And it only got worse the moment he saw Chrollo hand his doctor the creamer and realized the  _ reason  _ he trusted him to keep his hands off was because he  _ believed  _ him.

He really believed him.

How very irresponsible of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving comments if you enjoy my work/want to see more of something! I'm still in the editing process so I will be taking them into consideration!! Also comments really help me keep going and I enjoy them a lot.


	34. The TwoSkin and the Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox is tired. Feitan is baffled, Klaus is annoyed, and Nyx is breaking things.

The blood coagulated three hours ago, finally. They were approaching the manor now, and Nox was managing to come to a little bit. Phinks hadn’t let them sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time, and Nox was, quite frankly, exhausted. The blood loss was getting to them, and they wanted nothing more than a shower and bed. Nyx was probably in even worse shape than Nox. They never really reacted to blood loss well. Nox theorized that it was because they were a control freak. Nyx hadn’t reacted well to that assessment when Nox had initially made it, and it was never brought up again.

Nox was far more awake than them right now. Phinks was smoking. It was giving Nox a bit of a headache. They hadn’t even known he smoked. He was probably stressed, which was understandable. Hisoka had a nasty temper. Nox almost pitied him for what was about to happen. Even if Hisoka managed to contain himself, his scathing tongue had a habit of breaking down every inch of self esteem a person could possibly possess.

The manor was lit up with a porch light and the headlights. Relief flooded Nox as they caught sight of Klaus’s beat up pickup parked out front, and they struggled to sit up, their body screaming in pain. Glass was  _ such  _ a bitch sometimes. Hopefully all of it had been pulled out.

“Nyx,” Phinks said from the front and tossed the butt. Nyx stirred slightly, and Nox gave them a nudge. A low groan emanated from them, and Nox nudged again to get their eyes open.

“Nyx, wake up. We’re home.”

Nyx’s eyes fluttered open as Hisoka stepped out onto the porch, Klaus and Machi behind him as Phinks pulled to a halt in front of the garage. From the carefully controlled look on Hisoka’s face, he was not happy. That was fine.

He’d get over it.

Hisoka and Klaus strode over to the car and opened the back doors, Klaus crinkling his nose at the mess of blood in the backseat.

“You two are going to get infections,” he chastised as firm hands guided Nox out of the car.

“ _ Couldn’t pull over to change the bandages, _ ” Nox tried to sign, but it came out a garbled mess. Klaus sighed and just bent, sweeping his arm under Nox’s knees to lift them up.

“You’re a mess,” Klaus grumbled. “Dragging me away from work for this shit.”

He was happy to see them. Aw.

Nox couldn’t find the energy to say anything as Phinks pulled all of their bags from the trunk and carried them up the stairs.

They were so tired. Their phone was dead, too. Oh, well. Phinks needed the charger to keep the music going.

Nox let their head plop onto Klaus’s shoulder and eyes slide shut. He didn’t smell like the hospital. He must have used Hisoka’s shower. And the shea butter scent was gone. Silly Klaus, forgetting his moisturizer …

They felt rather high. They barely even noticed as Klaus and Hisoka dragged them through the house and into the kitchen to wash them up enough to squeeze out that neat little TwoSkin Klaus got his hands on a while ago. It was kind of neat, Nox thought distantly as they watched it attach to the skin and pull the edges together. It worked like a liquid bandage, just on bigger injuries. Klaus knew the biochemist that developed it. There was no need for stitches or staples, so there wasn’t a bigger mess when they needed to be patched up. It acted like a patch, and was formulated to finally wash off after five days or so.

Klaus and Hisoka had done this a million times, working in tangent to put the twins back together. Dimly, Nox was aware of Machi in the doorway, watching them work, but they couldn’t really be bothered to notice more than that. Klaus finished patching up the last cut on Nox’s back. He was always so gentle. It had barely even hurt. Nox tilted their head back, upside down, ignoring the blood rush, and gave him a lazy smile.

“Stop that,” Klaus said with an irritated frown and pushed Nox’s head back forward. “You didn’t even get all the glass out.”

They hadn’t? Hm. Nox hadn’t even noticed him pulling it out, but there it was, on the table in front of them, splattered in blood. Ew.

“You need a shower,” Klaus stated. “You stink.”

Nox stuck out their lower lip in a pout and poked at him. Signing was just too hard right now. Their arm hurt.

“They both need a shower,” Hisoka grumbled and caught Nyx before they pitched backwards off the chair, pushing them back into place easily without even a glance.

“Have you eaten?” Klaus asked with a sigh just as Phinks finally entered the kitchen.

“They’ve each had three half shakes today,” Phinks said. “Couldn’t get them to fully finish them.”

Hisoka glared at Phinks, and Nox lazily reached out to grab at his sleeve. They could handle this at least.

“ _ Don’t be mad at him. I like him. He’s a dumbass like us, _ ” Nox signed once his attention was sufficiently grabbed. “ _ I’m hungry. _ ”

They were very hungry.

“ _ Also we watched racing movies together, _ ” Nox added as an afterthought. “ _ Big explosions. I liked them. _ ”

Hisoka squinted at them.

“... Did you let him bribe you with cheap action movies?”

“ _ It was a very good bribe. Also smoothies. He got us smoothies. _ ”

“I can’t believe how easily you’re bought. Where is your sense of worth? You’re embarrassing me.”

Phinks cleared his throat briefly.

“I can get the shakes ready while they get cleaned up,” he offered. It was a shitty peace offering to Hisoka, but hey, they were all feeling pretty shitty. He didn’t even know what Nox was saying, poor thing.

Hisoka could never resist Nox when they were fucked up from blood loss and nicer than normal. Was Nox using this to their advantage and being manipulative as fuck? Absolutely. But, hey. Hisoka knew, and he appreciated Nox appropriately leveling manipulative behavior in their favor.

“You’re a brat,” Hisoka stated flatly, and Nyx groaned, muffled from the table they had rather aggressively thunked their head down on. “Not you, Nyx. You’re fine.”

Nyx groaned again and Nox let a sunny smile split their lips. Hisoka could  _ not  _ resist their sunny smile.

“Fine,” Hisoka said and turned his attention back to Phinks. “You make shakes or whatever, Klaus and I will clean them up. You might want to thank sunshine here later.”

“For what?”

Hisoka muttered something under his breath and hauled a protesting Nyx up.

“For convincing me to not eviscerate you,” he growled and dragged Nyx to the door.

Klaus looked down at Nox and Nox almost melted under the judgement.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“ _ No. _ ” Nox’s lower lip protruded and Klaus sighed, opting instead to pick Nox up rather than deal with what Hisoka was dealing with. Nox let him. Once upon a time, they had been quite offended when Klaus did literally anything to remind them that they were tiny, but whatever. There were benefits to having a personal chauffeur.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks Nyx is the one that takes after him,” Klaus muttered and pushed past Machi. Nox distantly heard Phinks asked Machi what just happened, but they found themselves unable to muster an ounce of a fuck to find it funny.

They drifted out of it again until they found them deposited on the bathroom floor of Hisoka’s bathroom, judging from the array of beauty products on the counter.

“You need to shower.” Klaus was staring down at them in that ‘fuck you for making me worry’ way he did. Nox was unsure as to why he stuck around their little family if he hated worrying so much. They were, after all, a literal disaster.

“ _ I’m tired. _ ”

“You’re covered in blood and can’t go to bed like that.”

Oh. That was true. Nox was a very fastidious person, with some things. They changed their sheets once a week. Blood in the sheets was cringeworthy at best.

Nox groaned and stumbled to their feet. Oh. When had Klaus taken their shirt off? They were just in a sports bra now.

“ _ I can do it myself. _ ”

“I’m going to turn around and let you get undressed, but I’m staying in this bathroom to make sure you don’t fall.”

“ _ You would hear it from the bedroom. _ ”

“Would you rather be stuck with Hisoka?”

Nox briefly recalled the last time they had been stuck with Hisoka in this scenario. They had blown out a window and nearly taken out his eye in irritation. After that it was firmly decided they went with Klaus, Hisoka got Nyx, despite their nasty temper.

“ _ No. _ ”

Klaus raised one eyebrow and then started up the shower for Nox and turned around. Internally pouting, Nox wriggled out of their pants and pulled off their undergarments before staring at the shower curtain.

Shower curtains were so difficult.

They opted to shove half of the thing aside and clumsily climb into the tub. It took less than five seconds of warm spray hitting them before they gave into their exhaustion and sunk down to the ground, knees drawn to their chin as watered down blood circulated around the drain. They forgot to take their hair down. Oh. Painfully, they reached up and pulled out the tangled up scrunchie, letting it fall onto the floor of the shower. It was stained now. Oh, well.

Water worked its way through their thick curtain of hair and they breathed out a tiny sigh. It was matted again. They’d have to steal Hisoka’s leave in conditioner to get it worked out. Really, why they and Nyx hadn’t cut their hair was such a mystery to them both. Mats were the worst, and blood could really mat up hair like nothing else.

Working it out seemed like a pain, but if they went to bed with it like this it would be even worse.

“You better be washing with  _ soap _ , Nox,” Klaus called from the other side of the curtain and Nox irritably hit the curtain in a “shush” way.

Stumbling to their feet, they grabbed the spare washrag Klaus had slipped in at some point or another and drizzled down the soap to start scrubbing. They really were gross. They needed to exfoliate, but Hisoka’s body polish was too fruity, and they were tired. Later.

It did feel nice, they reflected as they rinsed off the soap and started on their hair. It was just too bad that they felt like shit and their back and arm hurt like a motherfucker. Gah, why was Hisoka’s shampoo so not lather-y? They had to reapply twice, and they were starting to flag. They were so tired. They didn’t even bother to let the conditioner sit for more than a minute before they got to work rinsing it out. Long thick hair was such a pain.

The water was finally shut off and they just stuck out a hand, demanding a towel. Klaus obligingly put one in their hand and they vigorously dried. The TwoSkin was lovely, really. They had learned early to not even worry about rubbing it off. Wrapping the towel around themselves, they stumbled out and blinked blearily at Klaus.

“Tilt your head down,” he commanded and Nox obliged, their hair falling in a curtain as Klaus wrapped it up with a towel and let them lift their head again.

“I’ll go grab you some clothes,” Klaus said and left them in the bathroom. Nox just stumbled into Hisoka’s bedroom and collapsed on the bed facedown.

It wasn’t exactly worth it, really. The injuries. It had actually been entirely unnecessary, but whatever. They got the keylogger done, and Shalnark would be back from the bungalow soon enough with the bulk of their information. At least there hadn’t been any fights. Nothing more than a miscalculation. They’d be decently healed up in a week. What was a little more nerve damage, anyways? There were only about two deep wounds in the back, and none of them had gotten close to the spine. They’d all be healed in a week, and this fuss would have been pointless.

Oh, well. Mistakes happen. It wasn’t like anyone died. And it would make for a hilarious memory.

They were still not going to tell Hisoka about the death pollen.

The door opened again and Nox rolled their head over to look at Klaus, who had a bundle of clothes in his hand.

“I’ll be outside,” Klaus said and set the clothes on the bed. “You should get dressed. Food then bed.”

Honestly, this was all so much  _ effort.  _ Nox didn’t necessarily mind being babied. They actually rather liked pampering. But Nen, they were exhausted. Even so, they dragged their clothes closer and checked the phone that Klaus had put on to charge. They had a text from Feitan.

**You back? Machi said you have been hurt.**

Nox dragged their clothes on, one limb at a time. Shirts were too much right now. They would content themselves with a sports bra and some joggers. If anyone wanted to complain, they could take it up with literally anyone else.

**I’m back.**

What had even possessed them to give Feitan their number? Honestly, he was aggravating enough as it was.

**I am back, too. Phinks finished your dinner.**

**When did you get back?**

**Five minutes ago. You should come eat.**

Nox sighed, long and low, and hauled themselves to the door. They felt like shit. They were hungry, yeah, but they really would prefer to not eat right now. They wanted to pass out.

Their hair was wrapped up again, just for the sake of not having to deal with getting in the conditioner and brushing it out, and they pulled open the door to face Klaus, who looked them up and down critically.

“Ready?”

“ _ I can walk, _ ” Nox signed. “ _ I’m fine. You don’t have to follow me. _ ”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks and I turn around to find you decided to shack up with the Phantom Troupe. I’m going to follow you,” Klaus replied stubbornly and Nox sighed again, resting their uninjured arm on the wall to guide themselves down the hall. Klaus always won. Might as well let him continue the streak. Nox was too tired to fight him.

It took more effort than expected to make it down the stairs and shuffle into the kitchen, where Feitan was, predictably, washing dishes. Nox stared at him with tired eyes. They had nothing to write on. Their phone was left upstairs, and their notepads had been soaked in blood and subsequently tossed out. Whoops.

Feitan glanced over at Nox and pushed them a tall glass of green goo with a straw stuck in. Apparently Phinks thought they weren’t getting all their nutrients.

Nox picked it up and shuffled over to the table to sit down and sip at the smoothie. It didn’t taste awful, at least, not that that bothered them nowadays. Klaus awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I’m Klaus,” he introduced himself to Feitan, and Nox barely cared to look over and catch Feitan’s body language.

“I am Feitan,” Feitan said shortly. “Nox has mentioned you.”

“Nox?” Nox waved a lazy hand in Klaus’s general direction. So they had obliged Feitan discussion when they were in a good mood and Feitan wasn’t being a creep. Sue them.

“Er. Well. They haven’t mentioned you.”

“Yes.”

This was painful to listen to, but Nox could only drink so fast. They would honestly rather see Hisoka try to seduce Chrollo than sit through this.

Feitan didn’t seem intent on pursuing further conversation. Nox could hear him continue scrubbing at the dishes, and Klaus took a seat across from Nox, pursing his lips before he started signing to Nox.

“ _ Can he sign? _ ”

“ _ No. _ ”

“ _ Do you want to finish in your room? _ ”

“ _ No. _ ” Hisoka and Nyx were still up there, and Nox did not want to deal with that mess. Hisoka was a good caregiver in the aspect that he could not give less of a fuck if he upset someone he was irritated with, and he was very irritated with Nyx right now. And Nyx got very, very testy when their faculties were impaired in any way whatsoever and very resistant to receiving any help. It was surprising they hadn’t heard anything get broken yet. Hisoka was more likely to strip Nyx himself and dump them in the shower.

“ _ Probably a good idea. _ ”

In all actuality, sharing a bedroom was going to be a nightmare with Nyx tonight. All of the guest bedrooms had been taken up, too. And where were Ky’ia and Gon?

“ _ Did you meet Ky’ia and Gon? _ ”

“ _ Yeah. Ky’ia seems lovely. _ ” They could laugh at the assessment. Nothing nice to say, huh? Klaus and his manners.

“ _ It’s okay. You can say Gon is obnoxious. _ ”

“ _ Nah. He’s spirited. Apparently the week with Hisoka hasn’t gone well. _ ”

“ _ Of course it hasn’t. Hisoka has only had two students before. _ ”

“ _ You two turned out pretty fine. _ ”

“ _ Yeah, but we don’t have Gon’s personality. Hisoka doesn’t mesh with that kind of personality. _ ”

Their smoothie was almost gone. Klaus’s phone pinged and he opened the message and sighed.

“I gotta go help Hisoka,” he said and stood. “You okay?” His eyes flitted over to Feitan, who was just standing there, watching them. Like a creep. Nox nodded and waved at him.

“ _ Feitan’s harmless. Go help Hisoka. _ ”

Klaus nodded once and made for the door, pausing once in worry before shaking it off and disappearing.

Nox finished their smoothie and stood, picking it up with their injured arm and turning for the sink.

Their hand failed on them and the condensation made it slip, crashing to the ground in a million broken pieces, and the exhaustion finally caught up with Nox. Tears welled up and they started crying.

Feitan startled, staring at Nox with wide eyes, but Nox couldn’t find it in them to be embarrassed. How had they fucked this all up so badly? How were they supposed to take down the entire fucking ring if they couldn’t even manage a simple recon mission without grevious injury? How the hell were they even  _ alive _ ? The one time Hisoka went fully hands off and Nox had gone and injured Nyx horrifically when Nyx  _ trusted  _ them to not hurt them too badly. They had embarrassed Hisoka and themselves, in front of a bunch of seasoned veterans who had been killing and maiming and stealing and doing whatever the fuck they wanted for years.

And this was all Nox’s fault.

And now Nox was crying in front of probably the hardest one of all of them.

“Uh…” Feitan looked alarmed, like he didn’t know what to do, and Nox just started signing. They couldn’t help it.

“ _ I’m just tired and hurting and I fucked up the entire damn thing and I embarrassed Hisoka and I barely managed to keep Hisoka from taking it out on Phinks and I hurt Nyx and I am a fucking failure, _ ” Nox signed, their hands moving faster than their head.

“I do not understand what you are saying,” Feitan said. He looked desperate. Hilarious.

And there was the crux of the matter. Nox had signed up for this, but Nen they felt so alone in this house. No one could understand them. No one could  _ really  _ talk to them. They felt like a foreigner. It felt like culture shock, because for so long they had only had to deal with language barriers in limited doses, and now it was everywhere, all the time, crushing in on them, and Nen they were  _ sick  _ of writing. They wanted to  _ talk.  _ At home half of the time Hisoka was signing around them, and so was Klaus, and now it was all so  _ different.  _ It was different, and Nox felt so lost and alone because was this what it was going to be like when it was all over? When they finally went out on their own?

Nox was sobbing now, sobbing so badly it hurt their chest. They didn’t know what to do.

Feitan twitched, and then slowly reached out. Cold fingers wrapped around Nox’s hand, and they couldn’t find the energy to pull away.

“You are tired,” Feitan said shortly and Nox nodded, wiping their eyes with the back of their free hand. “I clean up. You go to your bed. It is late.”

Nox shook their head no just as somewhere something glass broke. There was a frustrated, guttural scream that drifted from the second floor, and Nox winced. Feitan blinked.

“Oh. Nyx is also tired.”

Nyx slipped in control, got mad, and screamed. Nox cried. It was kind of their thing. They were very dysfunctional.

“You can have my room,” Feitan offered carefully. “I will be up soon.”

Nox should say no. They should. But they took the out. They pulled their hand from Feitan’s grasp and made for the door. What were they even doing?

They were so tired. That’s what they were doing. They were tired, emotional, and still trying to pull it together and stop crying. If Feitan was going to offer an out while Nyx got their shit together, Nox was going to take it. They needed a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta reader has OFFICIALLY finished the fic and given it her stamp of approval, so a big thank you to Berita and her consistently putting up with my nonsense and endless text walls. I'm not sure if anyone is really invested in following, or if you are REALLY tired, but there are three sequels in the works now, with the second that will be finished in the next week. Hopefully we can jump right in! Next up: Feinox having a VERY strange night!


	35. The Spider and the Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox somehow ends up spending the night with Feitan, who is having some quiet reflections of his own.

Nox wasn’t sure how this had happened. They were sat on the bed, tablet in front of them, checking their social media in their week long absence while Feitan was sat behind them, brush in hand, deliberately working through Nox’s horrendous mats while Nox deliberately ignored the tugging. He wasn’t very good at it. He barely knew to start from the bottom. Nox had to coach him in grabbing above a cluster of hair before brushing it out so the tugging was not as bad. At least the leave-in was minimizing the damage. Their brain had not connected his hair being healthy and shiny with him actually taking care of it.

They really didn’t know how this had happened.

At least Nyx had stopped yanking on their Nen. They were really being very rude. An apology was in order.

Feitan had put some music on the TV to fill up the silence when he figured out Nox was too tired to bother with writing correctly. Nox was actually falling asleep, now that the majority of mats were worked out and the brushing was starting to feel nice.

Hisoka had once told them there were a lot of ways to talk to someone. Nox knew about love languages. They weren’t sure if this qualified, but here Feitan was, patiently working out the mats in their hair and playing music they liked.

“You can have my bed,” Feitan said quietly. Nox looked over their shoulder, some degree of shock setting in. “I can sleep on floor. Or couch, if you prefer.”

Nox pulled up a typing app and blinked through blurry vision as they tapped out their message.

**You want me to kick you out of your bedroom?**

“I do not mind. You must need space, if you came here.”

Well. That was true. Normally, the twins had separate bedrooms, but had been shuffled together without a thought when they arrived. They hadn’t shared a bedroom since they were in wheelchairs, before Hisoka had gotten the bungalow. It was turning into a bit of a strain. Nox tended to be too big to share space well. They liked to spread out. Nyx called it being a mess.

**I can sleep on the floor.**

Gentle fingers, accustomed to injuries, ghosted over the white TwoSkin plastered to their back.

“You are injured. You have bed.”

A shiver ran up Nox’s spine. They hadn’t been touched like that in … Well, never like that. Never when they might like it. Color rose to their cheeks.

**I don’t think our world has a place for chivalry. ** Why did they always write their best shit when they were in no mood for poetry? They hadn’t written a line in weeks, months, actually.

Maybe a year.

“Then think it logical,” Feitan responded. “You are injured. Nyx is in fit. I have bed I do not need. You sleep in my bed.”

His bed was very comfortable. Nox could tell it was memory foam, and the dark blanket on top was incredibly soft. His room was spartan, but everything in it was the highest quality. It made sense.

**Just tonight. ** They just didn’t have it in them to fight with anyone today, it seemed. They had already let him lure them here. Might as well follow through.

“Good.” Feitan’s fingers moved through their damp hair, starting at the crown of their head to start forming a loose braid. He hadn’t even asked, but whatever. If he wanted to play with Nox’s hair, so be it.

He was better at braiding than he was at brushing. Expert fingers weaved the thick locks together, quickly and efficiently in a fishtail. Nox hadn’t expected him to know how to do a regular French braid, much less that. It would seem Feitan was full of surprises.

“You have bad bedhead,” Feitan finally said, quietly. “Always going to bed with it wet.”

**You notice way too much shit. It’s weird. And it takes too long to dry to care.**

“Then get spray bottle to fix.”

**Then Hisoka will win. No.**

“So I am not the only one that notices.”

**It’s weird when you do it.**

“Is it?”

**Yes. You’re a weirdo.**

“Mmm.” That didn’t seem to bother Feitan. Probably because as hard as Nox was trying to insult him, they were still shirtless in his bed after having a crying meltdown in the kitchen. So the accusations of him being a weirdo were probably falling a little flat.

He was still a bit of a creep, but hey, so was the man that raised them, so. They weren’t in a position to judge.

Nox was falling asleep. They realized the second he tied off the braid and gingerly brushed it over their shoulder, the brush of his fingers almost electrifying. He had done a good job, even if there were still curly flyaways. Their eyes started to slip shut, and Feitan moved behind them to get up and shrug off his coat. He was wearing a shirt this time. That was an improvement.

“I need shower,” he said shortly and reached forward to take the tablet before they face planted into it. “You are sleepy. You go to bed.”

Nox nodded slowly, too tired to kick up a fuss, and pulled back the covers.

Really, they must be oversensitized from everything if Feitan barely touching them could make them so giddy. Hisoka was right. They had low standards.

His sheets were nice. Very soft, smooth. How nice.

The bathroom light clicked on and Nox let their eyes open briefly to take in the sight of him stripping off his shirt before he closed the door behind him.

They were being very silly. And tired.

Sleep claimed them then, without even a pill or a painkiller, and they crashed. Tomorrow was going to hurt like a bitch. Oh, well.

In the bathroom, Feitan was doing some questioning of his own as the water pelted him full force. Nox was passed out in his bed. In. His. Bed.

He wasn’t sure what to do about this impulsive desire that had led him to this point. It was rare a “crush” made it to his bed, and it was even more rare that it ended up like  _ this.  _

Feitan was not someone that reacted well to tears. When he drew them out of his victims he liked them, of course. How could he not? There was something powerful in torturing the tears out of someone. It gave him such a rush. But in day to day life, it was something he generally reacted to with disdain. No, even hatred. Tears were weak. Tears were a sign of vulnerability, and that was something he could not abide.

None of his “crushes” before Nox had been people that cried. They were almost always killers, like Nox, but not the kind of killers Nox was. A serial killer here, a Blacklist Hunter there, a mafioso somewhere in the midst, an assassin on occasion when he was feeling  _ really  _ frisky. He had a Type.

Nox was his first “spy”. He wasn’t actually sure  _ what  _ they qualified as. They weren’t an official Hunter, they could scarcely be considered an amatuer Blacklist Hunter, they weren’t like the Chain User, either. They were just. Nox. A Morrow. Spy was about the closest descriptor he could land on.

All of his crushes before had been emotional in one way or another. Bloodthirsty, giddy, high on death. A few had cried before, but those were tears of beauty. Asta, for example, had cried when he had killed someone because he got so overwhelmed with how  _ good  _ it felt. Asta had been a mess, though. That was Feitan’s single serial killer.

Nox had just burst into tears because they were tired and overwhelmed. Feitan was unsure of how to deal with that, because everything he understood about Nox until this point had pointed in the direction of them  _ not  _ being vulnerable. Or, rather, uncaring that they were, which made them invulnerable just on principle. It had taken him a minute to figure out, why Nox was so willing to piss him off even though they knew what he could do, that their abilities were inherently at a disadvantage against him. Well. Their twin abilities. He had no idea what they did on their own.

It was because Nox had a different understanding of strength. Feitan could overpower anyone, at any time, with his Nen. It wasn’t a question. If anyone hit him hard enough, he could kill them. So long as he survived the blow, they would die. And Nox could never hit him hard enough to kill him in one go in an all out fight. They just didn’t have that kind of power, even with Nyx at their side. Sure, the two could batter him up pretty badly, but that would only serve to put them at a disadvantage.

But when Feitan thought about killing, it was either taking out those weaker than him in one blow, or battling it out with people bigger than him until he eventually put them down. When Nox thought about killing, it was about lies and tricks and slips and slides to put someone down. Hitting when they didn’t expect, killing when they didn’t expect, putting someone down when they weren’t ready. Their intense Nen control was testament to that. Even when they were irritated with him, he could barely see it in their aura despite them openly displaying it all over their body. They had the kind of careful aura control that was similar to an assassin. They could easily hide that flash of bloodlust that would tip their victims off moments before a strike.

They were fast enough that Feitan could acknowledge that nine times out of ten, he couldn’t do a damn thing if they went after him while he was sleeping, or drinking, or eating. No one could keep up their guard twenty four seven. Not even Hisoka. To them, it didn’t matter if he could beat them in an all out fight. If they got even a whiff that he wanted to kill them, they just had to dance back, play their cards, and strike when he didn’t expect it.

It was a different kind of strength than Feitan was accustomed to.

Perhaps it was that realization of their own strength that made his brain short circuit when they started crying. He had known, of course, that they probably did cry. He knew enough to know that independently of Nyx, they were a Conjurer with control over Emission (Chrollo had been so kind as to inform him). Conjurers were always hilariously high strung. Even Kortopi had his moments where he just lost it. They tended to have tempers, which was also why he was surprised that Nyx was the one going on a rampage. Transmuters rarely were the ones that lost it, but then again they were all under a ridiculously high level of stress. According to Machi, Hisoka had lost it last night, too. It seemed to be going around.

He still didn’t know how to react. He wanted to be disdainful of their tears, dismissive of whatever was going through their head right then. But instead, the need to grab their hand had overpowered him, and so he did. He didn’t know why. They were just so warm.

He didn’t know what he was doing. Still didn’t know what he was doing, really. Machi had once called him and Phinks “such men” when their car broke down in the middle of the desert and the two of them fought over who would get to fix it. Men, she said, tended to want to fix shit they can’t actually fix.

She had then gone and fixed the car while they argued over who had the least mechanical experience. (It was in fact both of them. They could barely manage an oil change at that time, though Feitan had substantially improved.)

Feitan still remembered it. It felt like decades ago now. Maybe that was what possessed him to let Nox take over his bed, brush the mats out of their hair and braid it so it wasn’t fucked up in the morning. He had no idea what he was doing, but the solution seemed very apparent to him. Nox was upset and needed space from their ticking time bomb of a sibling, and Feitan had a space away from their ticking time bomb of a sibling. And Hisoka. Hisoka seemed like he would be a nightmare to deal with when he was stressed. Klaus seemed calm, at least, if a little frustrated with the whole thing.

Feitan hadn’t gotten a read on Klaus. It had been a bare few moments that he was in a room with the man, and he seemed more interested in having a sign conversation with Nox. Nox seemed calm around him, at least. They had only lost it when they dropped the glass.

The water was going cold. Feitan shut it off with a sigh and stepped out. His sleep pants and shirt were thrown on the counter, and he dressed mechanically after pulling his hair out of the cap. Nox hadn’t actually said whether he should sleep on the floor or the couch. Feitan opted for the floor, in case they needed anything.

They hadn’t taken their medication, he remembered briefly. That was going to be a problem. Hopefully they would sleep okay. They may be worn out enough to manage without painkillers.

Feitan turned off the bathroom light before he opened the door, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. The Nox in question was curled up on their side, facing him, their arms wound around the blanket like they were trying to hold something. Feitan waited for a second to count their breaths. Even, peaceful. They were managing just fine.

Silently, he slipped to the closet to pull out a spare blanket, and laid it on the ground before he carefully reached over Nox to grab the second pillow on the bed. They didn’t stir. He didn’t even have to go into Zetsu. They were really tired. That was good.

Feitan’s phone was fully charged. He checked it before settling down. There was a text from Hisoka.

**Where is Nox**

This might get ugly.

**Sleeping. They said Nyx need space.**

**Where are they sleeping**

Apparently Hisoka was in the mood to redirect his anger from Phinks to Feitan. That was fine. He could throw his fit.

**In my room. I am not in the bed. Before you get pissy.**

**… **

**I am going to sleep. Good night.**

Feitan wasn’t in the mood to find out if Hisoka was in the mood for thinly veiled threats or blatant ones. Hisoka was a nightmare. He seemed to be obsessed with the idea that Nox and Nyx were not actually adults. If Feitan was thirty, he could understand some of the thin ire Hisoka leveled at him on a daily basis, but this was honestly pathetic of Hisoka. Feitan had no idea why he was convinced Feitan was a degrading influence. It was like he didn’t notice how their normal Nen was as bloodthirsty as the rest of them. That, or he consciously ignored it.

Hisoka was the only one getting hurt in this scenario, and he was doing it to himself.

Pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, Feitan locked his phone and prepared to fall asleep. This whole family was a mess. Why was he bothering?

Nox chose to answer the question the moment he asked it. A pale hand fell over the edge of the low bed and they snuffled as they rolled onto their back. Feitan could reach out and hold it.

They were honestly beautiful with the moon dancing on their skin, with the light playing across their long throat and aristocratic nose. He could see their dark lashes painfully well like this.

The loveliest things always looked even better in the moonlight.

Perhaps that was why.


	36. The Snuggler and The Snugglee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox gets comfortable, Phinks gets to tease.

It had been a week since Nox and Nyx had returned to the manor. That week had been spent in veritable chaos. Klaus had left, Nobunaga had come in from Glam Gas, Shalnark had returned from the bungalow, Franklin had shuffled in for about thirty minutes to eat and drop off the drives from York New, and the Morrows had been in a state of constant work trying to get everything organized and their “room” set up. To top it off, Gon had conquered opening his nodes and Nobunaga was weirdly and uncomfortably delighted with that.

The room mentioned previously was actually Chrollo’s overtaken study. Apparently, Hisoka had taught them a thing or two about acrobatics, because every time Phinks spared a peek into the room Nox was actually standing on Nyx’s shoulders, or on a desk, or on the back of a chair, or actually on a shelf once pinning one picture or newspaper clipping or print out or something or another. Their little detective layout looked like a literal disaster to him. Colored threads went in every direction, pinned here and there, impossible to follow until Hisoka finally broke and explained the color coordination to him.

White was unknown, green was money, blue was “assets”, which Phinks assumed was the children, red was shared manpower, yellow was miscellaneous. Why they even had a miscellaneous option, he wasn’t sure, but hey, whatever works, right? From what he could tell, the entire thing was a disaster of gangs, the actual mafia, Hunters, reputable businesses which were looking  _ far  _ less reputable nowadays, small businesses, even mom and pop stores, less reputable businesses like casinos and brothels, and actual entertainment companies. The operation was massive. He wasn’t even sure how they had managed to even follow the mess.

Hisoka had tried to sit him, Shalnark, Machi, and Nobunaga down and explain it all while Nox was passed out on the couch and Nyx was hunched over the computer Hisoka had hauled in from town. He and Nobunaga had managed to follow approximately none of it. Hisoka had just about lost it when Nobunaga had just told him to “point me at who to punch and I’ll punch them, I don’t need to know this shit.”

Nobunaga had henceforth been put on Gon sitting duty, because the little fuck had tried to get a peek into the study four times. It was almost unfair how good his Zetsu was.

Gon had not been pleased. Phinks had heard enough of his shit today.

Phinks was also curious about whether or not the twins ever actually took a break, or if they just had to be forced into them, like they were previously. Because the second they got up, they dedicated their early pre breakfast mornings to hand to hand combat with Hisoka before the sun was even up, and then they had breakfast, and then they were off to train their kidnapped students. When lunch hit, the students were let loose to train independently, and the twins worked till dinner, and then once dinner was over they were back at it until bed. From what he could see, they had a decent system. When they weren’t organizing the mess Shalnark had made of their physical files, Nyx was tracking down new information on the deep web, and Nox took that information and did their own research to connect it together, or updated pre existing information they already had.

Shalnark had been dragged into the IP tracking effort. When he’d provided Uvogin’s finances to the twins, they had only seemed to get more frustrated. He wasn’t sure why. Neither was Shalnark, when Phinks had asked him about it. Something about “another vanishing act”.

Phinks resolved to get it out of Nox tonight. Nyx, he had learned very quickly, tended to be hyper focused and difficult to crack. Nox was a little easier to handle, and had that sort of “I’m lost and don’t know who to talk to” body language ever since they came back from Myoto.

Phinks had not missed that Nox spent the night with Feitan, nor did he miss that Feitan was more reticent than normal ever since. No sex, then, which was understandable. Nox had barely stopped bleeding when Phinks pulled up to the manor. It was a wonder they didn’t need a transfusion. While Feitan may be into that shit, it was unlikely Nox was. They already had enough unhealthy coping mechanisms they were well aware of, after all.

He could see why they felt like they couldn’t talk to Hisoka or Nyx about it. Nyx seemed to be developing a very healthy camaraderie with Ky’ia, the kind Phinks could easily see blossoming into love. Hisoka, meanwhile, seemed to be going out of his way to unnerve and disorientate Feitan whenever Feitan was in the same room as him. And when Feitan was in the same room as Hisoka  _ and  _ Nox? The bad behavior escalated to the point of childish pettiness. That was, until Chrollo entered and Hisoka vanished.

Phinks didn’t even  _ want  _ to know what was going on with that shit.

No, he just wanted to figure out what was going on with the money trail and this “vanishing act” before he left on Hisoka’s orders to nab a rare gem out of a bank vault and steal the CCTV footage from the last week. The gem, of course, was a cover, but hey, stealing was stealing. Hisoka had not been in a mood to tell him  _ why  _ this footage was needed, nor did Phinks really care, but he was pretty sure it all tied in.

If he knew anything from staring at that room, it was that everything tied together at some point or another.

Nox and Nyx were supposed to be splitting up after he left, too. Nox had a job to take out a gang that had been getting a little too chummy with lending people to the ring and make it look like another gang took them out. Part of this operation Phinks had learned was to rarely target big bosses like Trask until they exposed themselves, but instead to eliminate smaller pieces from the board. An assassination here, a massacre there, never enough proof to justify going to ground and scrapping all of that money and time. And always, always go dark after such circumstances. It was a long game, and a deadly one.

Nyx, meanwhile, had an easier job: take Ky’ia to infiltrate the ring’s favorite law firm to get the information they hadn’t managed to get from Edwin’s. Now that Edwin was convinced the twins were dead, thanks to photos of very convincing copies from Kortopi with different hair, different noses, close enough to make you do a double take and then pass off as nothing, they had more freedom to operate. Which meant he was getting a little lax with security, and the security he overlooked at the law firm.

Ky’ia was coming along remarkably fast with their hatsu. Nox had convinced Phinks and Nobunaga to let them test it on multiple people, and Phinks couldn’t even tell the difference. There hadn’t even been a headache afterwards.

They had started calling it “Neverland”, after Gon had told them about the movie. It was a good name. Hisoka had given them pointers on hypnotism, how you had to suggest the human brain fill in the blanks to create a more realistic picture, and Ky’ia had taken the suggestion. The only indication that you were in a hallucination was a ticking clock in the background, a touch they had added when they realized that if they wanted to be able to do it on multiple people at once, there had to be a condition.

Like the crocodile.

It was a nice touch. A small detail that could easily be missed if you didn’t really focus on it. Normal background noise no one noticed.

He did  _ not  _ like that hatsu.

In any case, he had to draw Nox away from Nyx before he left, and he decided to take the two birds one stone approach to get it done. He was meant to leave in the morning, which meant he had the perfect opportunity to lure them away from the study after dinner. Cheap action movies were the fastest way to their heart, he’d learned, and so here he and Nox and Feitan were, in the den. Nox was getting frighteningly comfortable with everyone. At some point into the second movie on the itinerary, they had decided to sprawl across the couch, head in Feitan’s lap, leg thrown haphazardly over Phinks’ thigh, sucking on a smoothie like it was their last meal.

It was about then that Phinks had figured out that it was not just Nyx that took after Hisoka. No, Nox was far worse.

The thing was, the three of them had action movies in common, except the difference was Nox and Phinks genuinely enjoyed them. Feitan, however, genuinely enjoyed critiquing every single error he could spot. Phinks hadn’t gone to the movies with him for years for this exact reason. Nox, however, was a manipulative fuck. Phinks pinpointed the exact moment they got fed up with Feitan’s nonsense, and the crash into his lap had happened about two minutes later.

Feitan had shut up immediately and had yet to say another word. It had been ten minutes.

Yeah, Nox was definitely the manipulative one. It made Phinks worry how much worse Nyx was in comparison.

They were hitting the credits now. Nox was relaxed, cool as a cucumber, comfortable in their presence. Now was the time to pop the question.

“Say, Nox,” Phinks said casually as he fiddled with his phone, trying to pick the next movie. “What did Nyx mean by vanishing act yesterday?”

Nox lifted their head lazily before reaching haphazardly to get their phone on Feitan’s semi free thigh to text out their reply.

**The money we think is going to the leader keeps vanishing** , they replied.

“I gathered that, but how?”

**It gets put into accounts that belong to either low level bosses or just aliases that get drained randomly. We can’t figure out the pattern.**

How hard was that to explain? The Morrows seriously did not know how to play with others. They all had tunnel vision from hell.

“Can’t you just get CCTV … Oh. That’s why I’m going to Vera, isn’t it?”

**What, Hisoka didn’t tell you? Rude fuck. Gotta yell at him later. And yeah. We try to get CCTV footage, but it’s always either a random person draining it or the footage is gone.**

So this wasn’t about keeping secrets from the troupe, then. They were just non communicative as fuck. Hopefully Chrollo would address that, because Phinks wasn’t about to wade into that mess.

“A random person?”

**We’ve tracked them down before. They have no memory of the event, so whoever this guy is, he’s got a hypnotist or manipulator. No pattern so we can’t figure out WHERE they take the money because we can’t get there first.**

“Couldn’t Ky’ia just …”

**We got Ky’ia like a month ago. And they don’t want to use the memory thing. So.**

Oh, right. Spiritual values. He couldn’t figure out why the Morrows so easily accepted that, and why they had to, too. Objectively speaking, forcing the person who could make you hallucinate for an indeterminate amount of time to do literally anything ever was probably a Bad Idea, but they could at least  _ try. _

Nox moved, grabbing Phinks’ attention again as they lazily lifted their now empty glass up. Feitan didn’t even glance at it as he grabbed the glass and set it on the end table. Phinks watched the interaction with a squint. They weren’t “dating”, neither really dated, but they sure as fuck were acting like a long time boyfriend and partner.

“I’m going to go get some more drinks,” he said abruptly. “Want some cola?”

Feitan managed a bare “ughn”, which Phinks took as a yes, and Nox nodded. Phinks stood up and Nox fully stretched out on the couch. One last movie, and then they could call it a night.

A few steps away from the kitchen, Phinks stopped and blanched at the aura emanating from behind the door. That was practically scandalous, and that was saying a lot, considering how often people had walked in on Machi with some girl she picked up from the bar. And was that…?

Phinks chuckled, low and slow, and opened the door. Yep. Just as he thought. Hisoka was on one end of the table, glaring at Chrollo as Chrollo dispassionately poured himself some coffee. Another late night reading, then.

“Am I interrupting something?” Phinks asked casually. Hisoka almost startled, and his face slipped into cool complacency, which was about as close as he could get to jumping.

“No. Why would you be?” Hisoka replied and Phinks let his brows lift.

“Your aura reeks, Hisoka.” Phinks shuffled over to the fridge and pulled out three cans of cola. Straw, straw, straw… Ah, right. Nobunaga had helpfully bought a plethora of disposable bendy straws on their last grocery run. He popped open a can and stuck the straw in before turning back for the door.

“My aura always smells  _ delightful, _ I assure you. Who are those for?”

“Oh, Feitan, Nox, and I are binging Cold Road,” Phinks said and shifted the drinks to one large hand so he could grab a bag of chips.

“I see.” Hisoka’s voice had gone cold, and Chrollo’s attention had been commanded. Well. It wasn’t often someone got to fuck with Hisoka.

“You know, Hisoka,” Phinks added thoughtfully, “Nox really picked up your manipulative tactics. Kinda impressive. They got Feitan to shut up during a bad action movie.”

Chrollo coughed hoarsely and Phinks gave Hisoka a wicked grin.

“Who knew all it would take was using him as a pillow?”

Before the carnage could break loose, Phinks was out the door and back down the hall just as the air in the room dropped to sub zero. Chrollo could handle that one. Hisoka could use a little riling up every now and again.

  
With how tonight was going, Nox just may get their own team up for their solo mission. Hisoka was going to have an aneurysm and it was going to be  _ great. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I just realized we are over halfway through this monster of a fic. Thank you to everyone for sticking through it with me! I hope you all are enjoying it! Thank you so much! Your comments are amazing and I appreciate the love so much. Going to add a bonus chapter tonight for you Kurosoka fans here. <3


	37. The Interrogator and The Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo and Hisoka have a discussion about Hisoka, once again, this time over coffee.

Hisoka was on the verge of a meltdown, and the only thing holding him back from it was the twins’ promise that they would pull him out and go dark. Gon was a nightmare, Feitan was pursuing Nox and Nox was evidently actively encouraging it, the bond between Ky’ia and Nyx was growing, the troupe was an actual nightmare to live with, and Chrollo … Chrollo was a problem.

Chrollo was a massive problem, and that was only more evident the second Phinks dropped that bomb and Chrollo got to see Hisoka nearly lose his shit for the umpteenth time in live time. Hisoka was half tempted to march into that den and separate Nox and Feitan himself, and the only thing holding him back from the urge was that ever present “Nox is an adult, Nox is an adult, Nox is an adult, do not be that creepy big brother” mantra in the back of his mind.

This was a mess. It was a literal mess, and Hisoka was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t drag the twins out of this house and away from this nonsense so he could go to let off some steam.

It didn’t help that after ten years, he was actually having to _ explain _ things again. Obvious shit that was like breathing air to him. The twins, too. The amount of times Nyx had to stop, backtrack, and provide context to Shalnark was totaling in the hundreds now. It was exhausting, because there were eleven Spiders, and while Kalluto didn’t count because they a.) were not involved and b.) had been acting independently for weeks now, it was still a nightmare to explain the same shit over and over again. Yes, you idiots, Markap gives money to Julius for the muscle Julius lends to Utomo for taking kids from the NGL, kids that are sent to Frollo for processing and records so they could be tracked down if they manage to escape, and then Frollo receives money from Gordon for his efforts, and then the kids are split amongst their various distribution teams across the continent. They couldn’t even follow the most basic operations, and when it _ actually _got complicated? Forget it. Machi was the only one there with any sense.

So, yes, Hisoka was frustrated. His family unit was dissolving before his eyes, his supposed allies were utterly fucking useless, and Chrollo was driving him insane ever since they had that conversation over breakfast. He wasn’t even _ doing _anything and his presence was enough to drive Hisoka up the wall.

“You should calm down about Feitan and Nox,” Chrollo said. Hisoka was forcibly broken from his internal screaming to stare Chrollo down.

“I don’t believe your input is worth anything in this situation.”

“No?” Chrollo finished preparing his coffee and faced Hisoka.

“No,” Hisoka confirmed firmly.

“You’re worried he’s a corrupting influence.”

“You think he isn’t?”

“I think you have some delusions about the twins and they will never live up to your expectations for them.”

“So you think they’re mass murderers.”

“Yes.”

“Pedophiles don’t count, Chrollo.” Hisoka rarely said the word.

“I didn’t say they did.” Chrollo took a long sip. Hisoka hated how his gaze alone could pin him to the spot.

“Then what _ are _ you saying?” Chrollo’s voice didn’t matter in this. It didn’t matter. This was _ Hisoka’s _family, not his.

“I’m saying you blame yourself for the path they’ve been set on and you truly believe they can get out of it.”

“They have time.”

“And you don’t?”

Hisoka’s eyes darkened. He was twenty six now. No, he was a bit too old to trick himself into normalcy. He would know the difference, and that was the crux of the matter. He had never let them experience the sort of things that would cue them onto the difference.

“I don’t.”

“Why not?” Chrollo took another sip. Hisoka felt like he was being toyed with again.

“Because there is a big difference in what I have done, and what they have done.”

Chrollo kept watching him. Studying. Picking him apart, bit by agonizing bit. To tuck tail and run now would be admitting defeat, and Hisoka never admitted defeat.

“Every perspective is different.”

“They don’t have mine, and they aren’t going to.” Besides. Even if they were “corrupted”, that would be a non factor. Perhaps if Nyx didn’t have Ky’ia, they could accept the path Nox was being set on, but they did have Ky’ia. Chrollo didn’t know what that fear was like. Hisoka knew he was being a hypocrite.

“Do you think you can’t change if they can’t?”

It was like a thunderbolt to the chest. It left Hisoka a little breathless. No. How dare Chrollo suggest he was so selfish.

“I just don’t want my family torn apart.” Chrollo had caught him off guard. That was why he said it. Not because he needed to voice it, needed Chrollo to hear. Needed Chrollo to understand.

He was just caught off guard. Chrollo would not wring a single more confession from him.

Chrollo didn’t react to the admission. He just kept sipping at his coffee, watching, waiting. Hisoka didn’t know what more he wanted from him.

“I think you should have a little more faith,” Chrollo finally said. “After all. You and I can be friends, right?”

Hisoka blinked. Several times. Chrollo considered them … friends? He and Hisoka? Hisoka didn’t have friends. He barely had Klaus. Illumi scarcely counted. Illumi who had … Not messaged in several weeks, but whatever.

“Are we friends?”

“Yes.” Chrollo made it sound like the simplest thing in the world.

“I fail to see what friendship has to do with all of this.” Thank Nen Hisoka wasn’t someone that really blushed, because had he been any different he would be on cloud nine right now.

“I think the twins have a bond that goes beyond lovers and their influences. They know each other better than anyone will ever know them, and something like ideologies won’t separate them. Besides. For all you know, Nyx could affect Ky’ia more. Look at their hatsu.”

“A hatsu is no indication of what kind of person someone is. How someone chooses to control it is an indicator of what kind of person they are, and Ky’ia has chosen a deadly hatsu and chosen to use it in a nonviolent way,” Hisoka retorted. “If anything, their hatsu can be taken as a sign of moral strength.”

“Can it?” Chrollo hummed. “I suppose so, but I think they are also very well aware of the fact that they can use it for ‘evil’, and are willing to do so to get the job done. Otherwise they would have imposed more conditions.”

“What makes you think they didn’t just overlook it?” It was actually something that Hisoka had wondered about. Why they didn’t have more rules. “Or that they perhaps trust themselves?”

“I think they have seen far too many lives to overlook it,” Chrollo theorized. “After all, the Ji’Tak used to be a warrior clan. People are at their worst in war.”

“It’s said a bad man trying to be good is the one that needs rules. Good men don’t need them.”

“And Ky’ia knows any good man can become a devil.”

Hisoka was silent. He knew Chrollo was trying to console him, and he didn’t like it.

“You worry about too much, all the time,” Chrollo continued. “You should talk about it a little more.”

“I managed for ten years not talking about it,” Hisoka rebuffed.

“And how well has that gone?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Chrollo just stared at him in that way he stared at Hisoka. Hisoka was beginning to notice he didn’t stare at anyone else that way. It was wild, how the three weeks he had spent here had culminated into this. Him being able to read Chrollo’s face, read those tiny, tiny little tells. At one time, he had wanted to be able to read him. After all, at least a portion of Hisoka’s success had been reliant on being able to read people, and read them perfectly. When faced with a person like Chrollo, he was good practice to crack even the toughest nuts.

But now?

Now, his frustration with not being able to read him was being replaced with the frustration that he _ could _ , and he _ couldn’t _turn it off. Because he didn’t like what he was reading, not at all.

“But doesn’t it feel good?” Chrollo set down his empty mug.

“Having a feel fest where I get out my deepest thoughts and bare my soul to a man that could kill me as soon as this is all over? No.”

“It’s easier to tell when you’re lying to me.”

“After you forced a lie detector test on me and literally mind fucked me?”

“Yes.” Chrollo didn’t even have the good manners to look ashamed. Asshole.

“You wouldn’t have been able to manage it without drastic measures.” That, at least, made Hisoka feel better. Chrollo hadn’t even been able to manage it with his own power, the first time around. Chrollo Lucilfer, reliant on a seventeen year old to subdue him. That was almost a point of pride now.

“Does that feel good?”

“Of course.”

“If having to drive me to my limits makes you feel so good, why are you so intent on trying to force me into not driving at all?” And there it was. Chrollo putting a different kind of thunderbolt in his chest. Why must he insist on making Hisoka read into things?

“Small pleasures.” Liar. Chrollo knew it, too.

Chrollo pushed himself off the counter and advanced on Hisoka. Hisoka refused to give ground, let Chrollo come within inches of him. His gel smelled nice, even if Hisoka hated how he did his hair.

“You’re going to break on me, Hisoka,” Chrollo promised. Hisoka didn’t move an inch as warm breath ghosted across his lips. “You’re going to break, and you’re going to realize it’s delicious.”

Hisoka resisted the urge to swallow.

“You won’t get the satisfaction.” The fact that he couldn’t find it in himself to play games was testament to the fact that Chrollo absolutely would.

“No,” Chrollo agreed. “You’ll get all of it. The way it’s supposed to be.”

Chrollo turned on his heel and made for the door.

“Coming?”

Hisoka, like a damn idiot, let Chrollo yank on his chain, drag him along, right to hell. He followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They ended up quietly reading together in Chrollo's bedroom. Shame on you for thinking otherwise /teasing
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	38. The Coin and The Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan and Nox come to an agreement, and Nox finds themselves inching closer.

How they had migrated here, Nox wasn’t sure, but they weren’t opposed. Over the past week, they had gotten a little comfortable with just sharing space with Feitan. He was very often just sitting in the study with Nox, Nyx, and Ky’ia, silently watching sign language videos on his phone as Nox went wild with the research. His presence didn’t rankle them as much anymore. It was almost surprising. Nox liked sharing space with him. It felt comfortable.

It would feel more comfortable if Hisoka wasn’t in some kind of fit over Nox actually  _ liking  _ being around Feitan. As if Hisoka had any room to judge. If Feitan was bad, what did that make Chrollo?

Whatever.

Though Nox had not expected that a night of watching movies would lead to the two sitting on Feitan’s bed. Nox had their laptop out, tablet in hand to bring a stingray to life on the screen. It wasn’t turning out how they liked. The edges were too hard, but whatever. They could just toss it in the “never see the light of day” bin later. Feitan was working on his own little project. Namely, watching the sign videos. Nox had been watching him out of the corner of their eye. They hadn’t given him any pointers yet. Every dialect on the planet was different from the Morrows’ dialect. They couldn’t help it; sign language was designed for deaf people. Nox and Nyx were resistant to making small noises, which often accompanied most sign. What was more, they weren’t in any deaf communities. Slang for most signing people was very different than slang for the Morrows, and there were gaps where they created their own words because they couldn’t find a definite translation online. Sometimes even the grammatical structure for them changed. After all, the Morrows were hearing people, and had always been hearing. They hadn’t  _ lost  _ their hearing. Sometimes English and sign just blurred together. They couldn’t help it. Sign was difficult at times. Some hearing people thought it was just another variety of English, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was its own language, influenced by the disability that made it a necessity, and Nox and Nyx? They didn’t have that disability, that lived experience, to influence it.

Being trilingual didn’t help. The Gemini grammatical structure wiggled its way in, too. They spoke with a very thick accent.

Even so. At least Feitan was learning a fairly neutral central dialect. Nox still wasn’t about to help him.

It was sweet that he was learning. A nice gesture, even though it would be ultimately pointless when this was all said and done.

Whatever was growing between the two of them would undoubtedly die when this was all over.

Nox, as high strung and focused as they were, understood something that Hisoka wasn’t understanding: this was the first time since they had lost their tongue and started this wild ride that they were spending time with people outside of the family that actually knew what was going on. They were also a teenager, and while the puberty blockers they had insisted on remaining on tampered down their urges, they were still a teenager. It was only natural that they would be dazzled by new people, new experiences, new bonds. And it was only natural that they would form attachments.

And it was only natural that those bonds would fall apart, just as Nox wanted. Very few relationships in your youth were worth putting entire life experiences on hold for, and they weren’t about to get tied down to Feitan when this was all said and done. They had seen a lot of teen romance movies where they were just silly. Nox had never even had a consensual kiss, much less consensual sex. Why would they share all of that with one person for the rest of their life? Silly. Foolish. They may be an emotional dumpster fire, but they weren’t  _ that  _ bad. No, Feitan was a first time feeling, and nothing more than that. Why Hisoka was worried about it was beyond them. Maybe  _ Nyx  _ would be content with Ky’ia, but Nox was not Nyx. That seemed to be something everyone around here forgot.

And anyways, Feitan didn’t seem like the kind of guy that was invested in the long haul.

It was nice to spend some quiet time with him, though. Nox hadn’t realized how much they wanted to be separate from Nyx sometimes. Nyx was probably too busy with Ky’ia to notice that Nox was avoiding them when they could.

What would Nyx do, Nox wondered, when they realized what was going through Nox’s head?

They probably already knew.

They still couldn’t get over what Phinks had said to them.

_ “Hey. Don’t worry so much about family. Family always works its dumb shit out.” _

Phinks was an idiot. Myoto was proof the three of them together were a mecha moron. But, like most Enhancers, he had a scary amount of emotional intelligence that made it hard to reconcile the fact that he was a killer. More of a killer than Hisoka, or Nox, or Nyx. Feitan was, too, but at this point the confusion at this team up was getting to the point where Nox was willing to shut up and roll with it.

“Your art is surprising,” Feitan finally said. The silence was broken and Nox was suddenly acutely aware of the building pain in their pelvis. Had Nyx gone to bed, or were they sitting up for too long? It was always so difficult to tell.

**Why do you say that? ** Nox had been keeping a notepad extension up on the screen for that reason.

“It was very angry before.”

**I was very angry. Still figuring out a cohesive style.**

“Are you not angry now?”

**Nah. I’m just chilling rn. A chilling stingray, if you will.**

“You are the stingray?” Feitan wasn’t too good with vague humor. It felt nice to not be the only one around with a language barrier.

**Yes.**

“Okay. Then this is self portrait?”

**If it was a self portrait then I would be eating some fish or something and not just chilling in watercolor. Not sure they actually are predators … Should check that … Hm.**

“Oh. I see.” From the look on Feitan’s face, he did not see. Nox took pity on him.

**It’s a joke. I don’t actually think I’m a stingray.**

“I would not have judged you if you did.” Aw. How sweet of him.

**Good to know. ** Nox shifted and winced slightly at the new flare of pain. The dull pain in the background was easy to ignore, but there was a reason they and Nyx generally went to bed together.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

**Little bit. Nyx is in bed so they aren’t holding the strings. I think. Maybe it’s the angle. Who knows? Still. Hurts a tad.**

“Do you need … ice?”

**How is ice going to help?**

“I do not know.”

Nox’s lips twitched just a little and they shifted back against the headboard and shoved a pillow under their hips.

**I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.**

“So … I was thinking.” Feitan slid to face them, cross legged, elbows on his knees. “You have mission soon, yes?”

**Yeah, taking out some little guys. They’re in talks to become big boys.**

“But you have to kill all, yes?”

Nox nodded.

“So you will have to hunt down outliers?”

“_Yeah, why?_” Feitan was coming along enough that Nox could do these small signs. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It would take Nox three days, max.

“Would it not be easier to get them all in one place?”

**Yes, but I can’t really do that, can I?**

“The boss holds Pearls of Anastasia,” Feitan said bluntly. “Danchou has wanted them for some time.”

**What are you saying?**

“I say that if I steal them, all men will be out on the streets in full force looking for me. And I can lure many to come fight me while you deal with small fry.”

**Fries, but sounds solid.**

“What?”

**Never mind. So you’re saying you want me to take you along.**

“Yes.”

Nox tapped the stylus on the edge of the tablet in contemplation. Realistically, it could cut a three day job into a two day job at most, one night job at best. Which would be nice, so they could get back to the badly behaved Gon in less time. Also, no traveling by themselves, so they could just have Feitan communicate for them, though his grasp on sign was laughable at best.

But, there was one small problem.

**One condition** , they finally said.  **You may see my independent hatsu. Unless I am an active threat to the troupe, as in attempting to kill Spiders, you cannot reveal that ability to ANYONE.**

Hisoka had been very insistent on this. The troupe’s ignorance of their independent abilities was the only thing that gave them an edge should shit go south. Nox wasn’t so arrogant they thought they had a chance without it. They knew their place.

“Deal,” Feitan agreed readily. He almost looked excited, and there was that stone in Nox’s gut again. He wanted to see them kill people.

Was that all anyone could love them for after all of this was over? Was it too much to ask that someone love them in spite of it?

Why couldn’t they be more like Nyx?

Nox looked aside, out the window. Feitan insisted on leaving the curtains open at night. He had a lot of weird little quirks. Nox couldn’t figure out how he slept so easily with the sun blasting in his face.

**Feitan**

“Yes?”

**Are you excited to see me kill people?**

“Yes. Why?” So honest, Feitan. He couldn’t lie if he tried. It was weird to think of him as a Transmuter.

**Just asking.**

“Do you not like that?”

**No.**

Feitan crept closer to Nox, his brows furrowed.

“Are you not proud of your work?”

**I can be proud of my work and still not like certain aspects.**

“Is that I have not seen you write poems? Hisoka says you are poet.”

**Like you said, art comes in many forms. I’m just not in a poetry mood. Haven’t been in one for … A year. Makes him sad that I stopped.**

“You are worried.”

**Yes.**

“For what?”

**There’s a lot to worry about. ** Nox was determined to talk them in circles.

“Are you worried about me?”

**Yes.**

“Why?”

**Do you think I’m like Nyx?**

“No. I think you are like you.”

Nox just gave up and let their fingers fly over the keyboard.

**We’ve never been around other people before, so a lot of changes are starting to come out. Everyone kinda just saw us as one unit, one person, and I think all of you did, too, when we first came. A two sided coin you couldn’t split if you tried without wrecking it. So like … I dunno. Nyx is someone you can love in spite of their bloodthirsty nature. I think I’m someone you love because of it. And I don’t want that.**

“Why do you think of that of Nyx?”

**Nyx is … Different from me. Perfect. I’m always the one that almost throws the mission, I’m the one that can’t do technical stuff, I’m the one that has most of the meltdowns, I’m the one that makes all the mistakes Nyx learns from. Nyx is just … more than their age. I guess. They don’t want more, they can just focus on the now and accept it, and I’m the one with my head in the clouds.**

Nox had always dreamed of having that great summer romance. Now summer was almost on them, and all they had to show for it was Feitan Portor. Nyx was the one that didn’t want, and by proxy got everything Nox dreamed of. It wasn’t that they were jealous. They weren’t. It just hurt.

Sometimes Nox wondered if their life was nothing but a punishment for wanting. They had wanted to leave the tribe at one point, go out and explore the world, and boy had they gotten that. At a price. They had wanted a new family, and while they wouldn’t change it for the world, they loved their family more than anything, they were trapped seeing their family endlessly suffer. Nox wasn’t so naive as to believe they would all just be okay after this. They would never be okay. No matter how much Hisoka wanted to believe the twins would have a chance.

They wanted a lot of things, quiet desires they had never spoken out loud except to Nyx when they were feeling particularly adventurous. They wanted a cat that wandered in during a storm. A house with big windows and lots of books and plants from every corner of the continent. Maybe a large collection of tea, if they were feeling particularly greedy. But with the kind of life they lived now, they knew that if they had that, they would lose it in an instant, and they wouldn’t recover from that loss.

Silly dreams.

Nox was a silly, fanciful person.

Feitan was still watching them. Silent. Waiting. What for, Nox didn’t know, but it was almost a relief when he started moving. And then it was nothing but confusion, because he was grabbing his umbrella and unsheathing the blade. Nox stared at him.

“ _ What? _ ”

Feitan pulled a spider coin from his pocket and flicked it up. It spun in the air and Nox’s eyes tracked it, watching it flip over and over, tumbling, suspended in air. The sword swished, too fast for the human eye to track, and it split in two, smooth, right down the middle. Feitan lashed out with his hand and caught both sides.

Silence ticked on and then he opened his hand, offering up the prize to Nox. They were perfectly cut. There was not even a sign of marring. They could have been their own coins. Nox carefully picked up a piece. Feitan finally spoke.

“Not so impossible, is it?”

It was in that moment that Nox decided to say fuck it all, and stay the night once again.

It couldn’t hurt.

Feitan could maybe understand. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whewwww we're getting closer to the action now! I made a tumblr to talk shit about my fic if anyone wants to check it out I haven't been on tumblr in years but here we are. burning trash heap headed to hell themorrowfam.tumblr.com


	39. The Thief and The Fire Drill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ky'ia and Nyx infiltrate the law firm amidst some confusion about what constitutes a fire drill.

Working solo was something Nyx was used to. Working with Nox was also something Nyx was used to. Working with Nox and someone else was a bit of a headache, but working without Nox and  _ with  _ someone else?

Now this was a trip.

Six years and they were getting frighteningly new experiences in less than the span of two weeks.

Teaching Ky’ia to drive had been an adventure, at least, and a semi welcome one. Nyx had learned very quickly why Hisoka had screamed so much when Nox was behind the wheel aged fourteen, and had also learned that not having 50% of their tongue put them at more disadvantages than they had previously envisioned. After all, they couldn’t very well have Ky’ia take their eyes off the road to read. There was nothing quite like ignoring your previous all encompassing stresses in favor of intense adrenaline spikes not related to someone trying to kill you. Well. They were pretty sure Ky’ia wasn’t trying to kill them, but those turns had Nyx questioning that previous assessment of the situation.

“I thought I did pretty well,” Ky’ia said conversationally as Nyx paid for their frappuccinos.

“ _ You were bad. _ ”

“I couldn’t have been  _ that  _ bad.”

“ _ You were. _ ”

Having literally lived and breathed sign for the past three weeks, Ky’ia had caught on surprisingly quickly. They explained it away as an absorption technique: if they touched someone’s memories, things they needed to understand in order to grasp the memory tended to be more easily learned. Like a mushroom in Mario Kart, Nox, ever the eloquent Nox, supplied. Ky’ia could handle sentence fragments pretty well now, so Nyx was making a point to sign as much as possible around them.

“Well, I’ve only been in a car …” Ky’ia screwed up their face as they tried to internally count in their head, “four times now in my life. You can’t fault me for being bad at driving the fourth time I was even in the vehicle.”

“ _ Okay, fine. _ ” They had a point, and given that fact Nyx could actually say they did pretty well. Or, at least, they were mediocre. Nyx had picked up driving like a sea turtle to a current. Granted, watching Nox, they already knew about three fourths of the things you  _ shouldn’t  _ do behind the wheel.

Ky’ia sipped at their frappuccino and screwed up their face.

“Is this supposed to be this sweet? It tastes like Hisoka’s coffee.”

Nyx coughed up a laugh and pulled out their phone to type.

**I’m probably the wrong person to ask about flavor, Ky’ia. I’ve only got half the tastebuds.**

Ky’ia almost looked abashed.

“Sorry.”

**Don’t be. It’s there. Might as well give me opportunity to joke about it.**

Their destination was coming up. Nyx kept sucking on their straw. Technically they were doing a Crime, and this was Ky’ia’s first time, so it would be a bit like popping a cherry. They certainly looked the part of some delinquent punks. Or, rather, what people wished delinquent punks looked like. Ky’ia had discovered pastels and Nyx had bought as many shirts and rompers for them as they wanted. Today Ky’ia had settled on baby blue shorts, a white tee, and some white high tops with their hair pulled back in a long braid. It looked good on them. In fact, they looked adorable, and Nyx kind of wanted to kiss them. Nyx themselves were dressed in an oversized white tee tucked into high waisted skinny jeans with their hair loose and disastrous as always.

In short, the two of them looked like they were young and in love and on a coffee run. Nyx pushed up their sunglasses and let their free hand fly.

“ _ Ready? _ ” The office building was just in front of them. Ky’ia took a deep, steadying breath and then nodded.

**It’s going to be draining. I’ll try to get you back to the hotel as soon as possible, k?**

“I will be fine, Nyx.” Ky’ia gave Nyx that lethally soft smile and Nyx felt themselves go a little lightheaded. They forgot how familiar Ky’ia was with holding an incredibly powerful Hatsu for indefinite lengths of time. This was probably going to be a cakewalk for them.

Ky’ia tilted their head, once, twice as they neared the door and then nodded. They were in Neverland.

Nyx pushed open the door to the waiting room. People bustled about, chatting, sipping coffee, heading for the elevator. The day was just beginning. Nyx kept walking, striding forward. Intel pointed to a lack of cameras for security reasons, so hopefully they wouldn’t be seen.

This was a law firm, Knuck and Bolte, known for their high class criminal defense lawyers. It was also the firm that had kept Trask from going to prison, and retained several of Trask’s business associates. They were firmly tied in with the ring, even managed a great number of their estates. They had an excess of information, but until Ky’ia, the Morrows had never been able to get in. Hisoka made buckets of money for occasional assassinations, public appearances, legitimate Hunter jobs, but the majority of his money went back into the operation and the twins, since they couldn’t exactly make their own money. Well, they did do the odd job themselves, but the secrecy of their mission relied on them remaining secret. So, Nox did a commission here and there, Nyx did cybersecurity on occasion, but in the end Hisoka’s money got drained for their work. They couldn’t afford to start retaining a lawyer from Knuck and Bolte, and their security was too tight to slip through. But now they had Ky’ia. Brilliant, wonderful Ky’ia.

Nyx and Ky’ia opted for the stairs. The servers were on the second floor. Nyx kept sucking on their frappuccino and cast Ky’ia a glance. They didn’t look like they were straining, despite the amount of people in the lobby and open floor plan.

“I’m fine. I can feel you worrying from here,” Ky’ia said softly as they curved around to the balcony.

**It isn’t too hard?** Through Gyo eyes Nyx could see a plethora of strands connecting each person and an overarching dome. Ky’ia was having to maintain every single perspective from every single angle.

“Not at all. It’s easier when I think about it like the room, not the people in it,” Ky’ia replied as they turned down the hall. Rows of offices stretched out in front of them.

**If you say so. I’m distracting you, sorry.**

“If I can’t maintain this without distractions, I shouldn’t be here,” Ky’ia stated flatly. “I need to be able to maintain this even when getting hit. You’re good practice.”

**We really shouldn’t consider this a place to practice.**

“It’s like a … fire drill?” Ky’ia generally struggled to find words for concepts their tribe didn’t have. “It’s very real, but if I don’t do it perfectly now, I won’t later.”

**Wait what do you mean by real?**

Ky’ia squinted at them.

“Like it’s on fire but it’s a contained fire professionals are handling, right?”

**I … That’s not how … Ok.**

“Did I get the concept wrong?”

**… I’ll explain that one later.**

They were at the server room now. It took biometrics to get in, but that was easy enough to bypass. Nyx knelt down and shrugged off their backpack to get out their tablet and hook it up. The program started whirring to open the door, and they waited patiently as Ky’ia stood ready next to them. There were fewer people that could see them here, at least.

Really, Ky’ia made Nyx feel bad about their own ability. Comparing yourself to a Specialist was always a bad idea, but damn if Nyx didn’t pale in comparison. Then again, even Nox’s ability was more complex than Nyx’s, which was why Nox had their mission and Nyx had theirs. Nox wasn’t  _ cooler  _ than Nyx, not that it mattered, they could just take out more people at once with their wider range.

Nyx never thought they’d reach the day where they actually felt insecure about their abilities.

The tablet beeped and the palm pad lit up green. Nyx hurried to push it open and Ky’ia ducked in with them. There was a table to set up their laptop and plug in, and Nyx set to getting past the firewall. It wasn’t much to speak of. There were a variety of Nen users here, all dedicated to stopping someone before they could even get this far. Nyx had counted the two secretaries, four separate paralegals, and three security guards as having overwhelming amounts of Nen. They were probably hilariously expensive. Look at all that money whooshing down the drain thanks to a pair of eighteen year olds. It was a little satisfying.

But, in any case, the firm was overconfident, because this firewall was a joke. It tried to block Nyx’s access for a total of five minutes before Nyx was able to disable it, and the alarm it tried to send off was easily taken down. Ten minutes later and Nyx was bypassing the security questions and passwords to access one Lyla Harmun’s list of clients and every last one’s estate information. Really, she should have been more disorganized. It was all so neat and tidy. She should hire less excellent paralegals. And then they moved onto the next lawyer, and the next, and the next, until all five were ticked off the list and Nyx was moving on to erase the history of their access. As a last measure, they ran virus detection, and, satisfied, they unplugged their laptop and closed it.

“Ready?” Ky’ia asked, and Nyx nodded. They took the last sip of their frappuccino, draining the mix of coffee and whip cream with an obnoxious slurp, and stood.

“ _ Let’s go. _ ”

The two of them slipped out, arm in arm, and practically waltzed out the front door. Nyx wasn’t one for giddy satisfaction, but the sheer ballsiness of the fact that they just walked right in and hacked their network in broad daylight sent a shiver down their spine. So much that they  _ almost  _ didn’t notice eyes on them as they walked out the door and to the stop sign before Ky’ia dropped their hatsu.

Right there on the curb was one of the paralegals, squinting at them in thought. On impulse, Nyx pulled Ky’ia a little closer and pressed a kiss to their cheek. Ky’ia startled and looked at them with wide eyes. Nen, they were bad at this. And, then, a slow smile spread across their lips and they kissed Nyx’s cheek in return.

Now Nyx felt bad, but the eyes were off them.

**One of the paralegals is watching us** ** _, _ ** Nyx typed. The light changed and they pulled Ky’ia into a leisurely pace to cross the street.  **Feel their Nen?**

“Yes. The kiss was still nice,” Ky’ia said and hopped the last step to get to the curb. Nyx let themselves get pulled along. Well. At least their feelings weren’t hurt. Nyx would feel awful.

**Sorry.**

“For what? A kiss is a kiss, undercover or not. It’s kind of exciting, isn’t it? All this sneaking around, I mean. I feel  _ bad. _ ”

Nyx felt like they could melt into a puddle on the ground. They felt silly, fanciful, but dear Nen, Ky’ia was so cute it hurt. Like actually hurt.

**You can’t be a bad boy when you say it so cutely.**

“You think I’m cute?”

**I don’t have a tongue. I’m not missing my eyeballs.**

It felt so natural saying all of this. Nyx had once entertained the thought that they never would be able to handle this stuff well, but going with the flow seemed to be working so far. It was odd, the thought of them just letting a romance mutually blossom. But hey, Nyx wasn’t going to dig in their heels and fight it, unlike their idiotic siblings. Then again, their idiotic siblings definitely had some baggage with those respective pairings. Mass murderers and all. Nyx had hit the jackpot here. They almost felt bad.

“You know, this was a pretty good first date,” Ky’ia commented. Nyx nearly choked. Ky’ia saw  _ this  _ as a date?

**You think this is a date?**

“Why not? We got drinks, did something we both found interesting, I got to show off to you instead of you being all cool, indulged in mutual interests, did a little trespassing and criminal activities. I’d say it was perfect.” Ky’ia detached their arm to reach down and take the hand not preoccupied with the phone. “Got out of the house … Yeah. It was a good first date.”

**Who says it has to end? ** There was an amusement park in town, and Nyx had saved up as much money as they could from the odd jobs they had worked. They could really pay for a date with Ky’ia.

“I … Well what could we do?”

**Have you read about roller coasters?**

“Yes!” Ky’ia lit up and Nyx pulled them a little closer to avoid walking directly into a pole. How were they so cool and collected ninety percent of the time and minutes away from a disaster for the remaining ten? They didn’t even notice.

**He might follow us. Might as well really play off the whole date thing** , Nyx theorized.  **Also cotton candy. I can actually eat cotton candy pretty ok.**

“What’s cotton candy?”

**A special kind of sugary sweet that dissolves in your mouth. You might like it. If you’ve gotten over your hatred of sweet coffee.**

“I like sweet things. I just don’t understand why you would take something so fundamentally bitter and make it sweet. Defeats the point.”

**Caffeine.**

“Why not have something else then?”

**Stubbornness.**

“Humans are so strange,” Ky’ia muttered and Nyx’s lips twitched as they reached the loaned car from Chrollo. It was a pity they couldn’t take the bike, but hey, Ky’ia needed to learn how to drive, they both needed backpacks, and Ky’ia didn’t even know how to ride a regular bike.

Maybe they could take them for a ride another day.

“Hey Nyx?”

Nyx paused in fishing out the keys and tilted their head.

“How  _ does  _ a fire alarm work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be too busy for an upload tomorrow so here's an apology extra two chapters in case I also can't get around to it Monday (unlikely)
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	40. The Spikes and The Decor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan pays a visit to a gang. Chaos ensues.

Marcus Arel had lovely taste in home decor. Really. His desk chair was somehow an old fashioned leather armchair that was ergonomic. It must have cost him a fortune to commission, given that the leather was  _ highly  _ illegal.

He also had thoughtfully placed two table lamps on either end of the desk. Table lamps with stylized spikes on top.

Feitan loved to have a sense of ambience when he was working. The blood staining the lampshades from the grotesque heads mounted was certainly setting the mood. Caught in a perpetual scream, Marcus’s top two men provided the perfect macabre lighting. It was the only improvement Feitan could have possibly made that would better the space.

The pearls swung around his fingers for another rotation as he patiently waited with his feet up on the desk. The Pearls of Anastasia were famous for their iridescent qualities. They were also called the Bloody Pearls on account of how many men had supposedly died at Anastasia’s hand while she wore them. Anastasia had been a princess once upon a time, and the pressure of marrying had compounded until she snapped. It was theorized that she was a Genius, as the pearls were known for turning black and weeping blood under the full moon. She had killed approximately thirty suitors, and her position had protected her until her murder of a Crown Prince had sparked a war. She’d been beheaded. It was commonly believed that her last words were, “A man may have killed me, but no man chained me.”

Her death was a pity, but what a way to go. Feitan liked her.

Chrollo had coveted the pearls for some time, but they never got to get their hands on them. There was always something else to do, something else to steal, someone else to kill. Good thing Feitan had an excuse now.

He felt Marcus approaching before he heard the footsteps. Excitement spiked and the pearls spun around again, once, twice, three times, and the door opened.

Feitan’s dark eyes lifted and met Marcus’s. He was an older man, dressed in a three piece suit, respectable, expensive. Oh, how Feitan loved to bring that all crashing down. The pearls spun around again.

“You certainly have a flair for the macabre,” Marcus said slowly. “Was ruining the lampshades necessary?”

“I think is improvement.”

“Feitan Portor, of the Phantom Troupe, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Strange of you to wait around after taking what’s mine.”

“I have more to take.”

“Did someone hire you?”

The cool, smooth pearls were caught in his grasp and Feitan tucked them away as he stood, fluidly, tracked his fingers through the blood pooled on the desk.

“You could say that.”

“I didn’t think any of the gangs had the money to pull in a Spider.”

“They do not.” Feitan lifted his hand and rubbed the blood, inhaled that sweet, sweet scent that sent shivers down his spine. “You could say I am trying to impress someone.”

“They must be a very eccentric person to be impressed by this.”

“They are artist.” Marcus’s Nen was swelling and Feitan leaned one hip on the desk. “I thought I could take picture of your dead body when I finish. You mind?”

“A little.”

“Mmm. Too bad.”

The tension spelled out the danger between the two of them. There was a pause, and then the room exploded. Feitan’s umbrella blew up, left to the side as his sword flicked out delicately, and a cat o’ nine formed in Marcus’s own hand. A Transmuter, or perhaps a Conjurer, as suspected.

Marcus lashed out, the tails growing, and Feitan whacked them to the side. Shouts exploded below, and a smirk just touched Feitan’s lips. Yes. Good. Let them come running to master. Feitan would kill them all.

Marcus was experienced. He knew to stay back away from the shorter weapon, use the flail to his advantage. He still wasn’t Feitan. He was hardly a challenge, and it was foolish of him to think he had a chance. A wall blew out and the two were fighting in the hallway, Feitan on the defensive, easily blocking paltry attempts to hit him, dancing around the writhing tails, just out of reach. It seemed Marcus had a limit to how far the tails could go, about ten feet. In the close quarters, he didn’t have much of an advantage. At least he was smart enough to see how easily Feitan was evading him.

Poor man. It had to suck to get so old and sweat so easily. He shouldn’t wear all those layers.

They reached the stairs and Feitan launched himself up and back, flipping once and coming to a soft, crouched landing as the men began to run in, stopping in horror at the sight of him. Marcus stopped at the top of the stairs and Feitan grinned up at him.

“Well?”

“Who?” Marcus demanded.

“You are not in position to be making demands.”

“You’re surrounded by fifty men with assault weapons. Who?”

Feitan felt a cackle boil up and he gave in, let it out as he stood. As if that was a problem. Only half of them even had an ounce of Nen.

“You need more men,” he snarled and then moved in a blur. Blood sprayed as long fingernails ripped through flesh and arteries, spraying across his face and coat, necks snapped, men fell before they could even scream. The ten most powerful Nen users were left alone, and in a second Feitan was back in place at the center, now drenched in blood.

“You need many more men.”

Five were shaking in their boots as Feitan lazily flicked blood off of his hands, spraying it directly at them.

“Will someone not try to hit me?” His Nen ability was not well known. That was an advantage. It was rarely seen, and most people that did see enough of it to know how it worked didn’t live to tell the tale, with the exception of the troupe. Not even Nox had seen it, thankfully. It wouldn’t do to kill them when they were still so fascinating.

“Or are you all too busy pissing?” The manic grin on his lips grew, split his face in two, and the biggest, burliest, meanest fucker charged. He was as big as Franklin, and honestly shouldn’t have tried, because he was at an inherent disadvantage with how slow he was. Feitan evaded his punches easily, didn’t even have to block. It was a strange realization that sparring with Nox had taught him to focus more on how his body shifted and how that could be used against him. Looks like he could still learn things. He had never moved so fluidly.

His blade flicked up and an arm went flying, hitting the wall with a wet thump before it dropped. A screech reverberated in Feitan’s skull and he shifted before the second attacker landed a hit.

They had a scythe. Another long weapon inherently at a disadvantage against Feitan. At least the fluidity of the flail made it difficult to get inside its range.

“Is that the weapon you want to use, Conjurer?” He asked softly and his sword flicked again, taking off the panicked single armed man’s head. The young man stared him down, serious, unwavering, and Feitan tilted his head.

“Do you know why I am here, hm? Would be pity to kill you if you didn’t.” He had a childish face. A bit like Shalnark. They could have been related.

The scythe cut through the air and came to rest behind the man. They seemed to be going in order of strength, aware that they would only get in each others way otherwise. Smart. Not smart enough. Really, Feitan wasn’t sure he could quantify him as a man. He was anywhere from fifteen to eighteen. Blonde hair, green eyes, honest face. A killer, if Feitan ever saw one. He would be slightly more difficult.

More men were arriving to the bloodbath, and the witless survivors seemed to be rallying whatever they counted as courage. Feitan called it foolish arrogance. None of them moved to shoot. The young man was in the way.

“You’re arrogant,” he spat, and Feitan smiled, patronizing. Yeah, he didn’t know.

“You are child,” Feitan said, and charged.

The kid was fast, as fast as Feitan. The two smashed through the entrance hall, bouncing off walls, crashing through pillars as Feitan dodged and parried his blows. He could go on the defensive. He could hold the defensive all day long, if he felt the inclination, and the kid was good. Not nearly as good as Feitan, or Nox, or even Kalluto, but good. He handled the scythe like it was a fifth limb, and Feitan deigned to wonder if he had been a farm boy before this.

Even so, Feitan was dicking around, and while pride kept Marcus around to see this through, he could leave in a moment while Feitan was playing with his men.

Feitan shifted. The kid wasn’t good enough to realize yet that Feitan was toying with him, but the realization dawned the second Feitan hooked the handle of the sword through and sent the scythe flying. Feitan felt the scythe go soaring and then … It disappeared and reappeared in the kid’s grasp. Surprise etched across Feitan’s face and he froze just for a moment, primarily because he had  _ never  _ seen anyone at the kid’s combat level manage a conjuring and dispersal that fast. That second was all the kid needed to swing the handle up and smack Feitan across the face.

Pain blossomed. A lot of pain. Nothing to compare to his broken arm, but it was enough as his eye almost immediately began to swell. A cackle rose up again and the kid took a step back, wide eyed and confused at his reaction.

“You have made mistake,” Feitan said, and felt a flicker of rage. Not at the kid, no. At the people that had lured him in with false promises. He could read people. Very well. The kid had no idea what he was helping with, and something about that infuriated Feitan, because he was about to die for other people’s sins. He had such potential, too. Honest face.

Maybe Nox was rubbing off on him.

Maybe …

What would  _ really  _ impress Nox?

The kid looked terrified as Feitan’s Nen began to swell. He tried to lash out before Feitan let off what was coming, but Feitan grabbed him easily. There was a trick to his regalia. If someone was close enough, it would envelop them. 

The kid looked confused as Feitan pulled him close, and the handle of the umbrella crashed against his skull. He was out in a second. He had always been outclassed, poor thing.

Feitan’s regalia began to form and his eyes fluttered shut as pure power coursed through his veins.

“Pain Packer,” he said aloud. “First condition.”

The sun began to form and Feitan let his base fury feed into it, build it up, and screams echoed through the mansion.

It took a bare two minutes for the bodies to stop twitching. He had taken out the roof. They were so scorched no amount of DNA testing would ever determine their identities. The way it should be.

The regalia faded with his temper, his retribution, and he dropped the kid unceremoniously on the floor. He was going to have a nasty concussion when he woke up. It was a pity. Feitan had wanted to fight someone worthy of his talents, not some farm boy with a half decent reaction time.

A crackle reached his ears and he looked up. Oh. He forgot he was in a wood building. It was on fire. With a resigned sigh, he picked up the kid by the back of his shirt and dragged him out the doors to toss him on the ground a safe distance away. He was starting to stir. Good. Unconscious any longer and he would have some brain damage.

“Wha---?”

Feitan walked past him, hands in pockets. He needed to get in town and find Nox.

“Try not to lose your temper for few months,” Feitan said casually. “You lucky I like you.”

The kid tried to struggle to his feet and ended up flat on his face.

“What did you  _ do _ ?”

“Pain Packer,” Feitan said as he reached a car haphazardly parked in the drive. They hadn’t even locked it. Amatuers. “Rising Sun. You hit me, I hit back much harder.”

“Did you just kill my uncle?”

“Probably. You will get over it. In few months, you will see.” Feitan slipped into the driver’s seat as the kid tried to stand again, drunkenly stumbled a few steps, and collapsed in a heap. “Keep to yourself. I hear you talked, I will not be so merciful.”

“Why did you let me live?” The kid demanded. “You’re Feitan Portor! You don’t let people live!”

Feitan reached over to start sparking wires together. The car roared to life and he slammed the door shut so he could roll down the window. Sparks started drifting up in the night sky. Pretty.

“Like I told Marcus. I would like to impress someone,” he said shortly and pulled away, leaving the shaking and crying kid to figure out how to deal with the smoke inhalation on his own.

Was he still Feitan? Odd. His fascinations rarely changed  _ him _ . This was a new development.

This was a very new development.

If Nox asked, he realized, he would most certainly burn down the world for them. How very romantic of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW okay here we go. Took forty chapters to get to the action but we are THAT MUCH CLOSER to everyone figuring out what the fuck they want out of each other. I hope I did Feitan justice! Feel free to tell me if I got it wrong! I just figured it must have taken a monster of a sun to kill Zazan given her hide, and killing very jelly like humans is much easier. It was just a guess, of course. Happy Halloween, everyone! I hope you're all having a spooky one! Please let me know if I played Feitan right!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	41. The Crows and The Ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox faces off with the gang and a woman named Jewel.

A storm was rolling in. Nox could smell it on the horizon, which was a pain. They hated getting wet. A cool wind rustled past them as they remained crouched on the edge of the roof, watching the chaos below them.

The entire gang had been mobilized. Cars had been heading out towards the mansion at the edge of the city for the past twenty minutes. Nox still watched, patient, waiting for the fire. Another deep breath, and a fifteenth crow materialized next to them. Over the years their crows had become more and more lifelike, to the point where they had their own personalities, their own names. There were a total of fifty, and as Nox grew, so did their number. They would never die. Even if they were vanquished in combat, each individual crow only needed a twelve hour regeneration period before Nox summoned them again. They would always come back, so long as Nox was alive, and that was a bit of a comfort.

Nox had always wanted pets. There had been days when they were left to wander barefoot in cold buildings that they watched birds fly outside the window. They had dreamed of joining them. Crows especially. They loved their intelligent beady eyes and croaking coughs of caws. Nox had related to them even more after they lost their tongue.

A hand reached out and stroked across soft feathers. Ri was their second in command, their first, adaptable, bold, impertinent, with a penchant for theft and nesting in Hisoka’s hair. He hopped up onto Nox’s shoulder and let out a mournful cry. Impatient as always.

_ Not yet. _ Two more formed, Kai and Uno, and the two shuddered against the cold, despite their inability to feel it.

Twenty seven should do it. The rest could be summoned in severe situations.

Aed joined the growing murder, and then Aodh. Nox breathed out, slowly, deliberately, and brought Tin into being. They could do all of this in an instant, but it wore them out. It was better to let their Nen flare back, then let it leak out again, and then flare back, again and again. Yin and Yang joined the fray, and then Asmo, Hitter, and finally Comet. Twenty five.

Nox stood, a tall silhouette despite their short stature, and watched the horizon. They could see the mansion from here.

They waited. Ri twitched on their shoulder, pulled at their hoodie strings, and Nox made a crooning noise in the back of their throat.

_ Not yet. _

They felt it before it started. Feitan’s Nen was horrifying in its strength. His malevolence stretched out across the city in an explosion, and a bright light lit up the sky, turned night into day. Nox’s eyes widened. They knew about Rising Sun from reports, but they had never seen it in person.

And he wanted to tag along with  _ Nox _ ?

Nox had practically been beating the shit out of him in sparring sessions the second they washed off the TwoSkin and he could do this? Sure, they  _ knew _ he was on another level, but it was different to see it in person.

_ Stop it. You’re going to make the birds feel inadequate. Jackass. _

They couldn’t dwell on this right now. Feitan had killed as many people as he could. Now they had to sweep out in their pincer movement and bottleneck the survivors.

Crows lifted off, and ten took off to head off any cars trying to escape the opposite way. Gin and Rum had been their eyes throughout this. About one hundred men had left for the mansion, and perhaps seventy five had made it. Feitan would reach the remaining twenty five, which left Nox with the other half of the gang.

Two hundred men. Ri took flight and Nox dropped off the roof. Wind whistled past them and they landed with a crunch. Their fourteen crows circled over their head as Ri swept down to land on their shoulder once more, their ever faithful companion. Nox stuck their hands in their pockets and strolled along the streets, their Nen growing and flickering as they breathed in the taste of rain.

The sun disappeared and the world was black again. Nox kept walking, eyes on the horizon. They couldn’t see the mansion now, but it was likely going to light up the sky in flames pretty soon.

Their senses pinged as men tumbled out of a nearby pub owned and operated by the gang. All members. Seven in total.

Their birds rotated one last time and then dove in. The men barely had any time to register that Nox was their attacker before they were ripped to bloody shreds. Blood shimmered on their crows’ feathers and then absorbed, giving Nox a rush of power.

Their birds were special. Being made of Nen, they were capable of ripping opponents to shreds, peeling their skin from their muscles, ripping holes through their bodies with nothing but momentum and razor sharp beaks. They also had an additional ability: they could absorb blood, which, given that it kept people alive, held some degree of Nen, and redirect it back to Nox. Nox had added this specific detail when they realized that while they could hold them for days, sometimes they would need to hold them for weeks. Shit happened, and without their ability, they were a sitting duck. So their prey could operate as how nature intended: food. If Nox had absorbed enough Nen, the regeneration period shortened as well. The record was currently three hours, but that had also been a  _ very  _ bad day they would rather not think about.

Nox kept walking. They were a very physical person. They liked their combat up close and personal. But small fries like these guys weren’t worth the time. The wind shifted, threatening to blow off their hood, and they hunched down, breathing slowly and deeply as they widened their En range.

They didn’t even need to be in range to tell Feitan was coming into the city. They could see him in a stolen car through Rum’s eyes. He was still bleeding Nen, keyed up, ready to kill more people. Nox knew what that felt like. It was never enough, sometimes.

Police sirens were starting to wail as they headed out to the fire that had flared up. Behind them, their ten vanguards had found their prey. Nox didn’t even need to look through them to feel the power surge through their body. Two, three, four, five men. All non users. They didn’t stand a chance. Their birds were too fast for a non user to shoot down. That was twelve out of one hundred, no, now fifteen.

Eighty five to go. Nox could keep this up all night. The small, competitive part of them didn’t want to be outdone by Feitan, though it was inevitable. From what they could see from Rum, he had already killed about seventeen on his way over. They wished they could have gotten Rum close enough to see the Rising Sun up close, but it was too much of a risk. Nox dimly wondered if anyone had managed to escape.

Twenty now. Nox’s own Nen was only growing with their anticipation, shaping, and with Feitan on their side they could afford to feed it back into the birds, amp them up, not worry about conserving their strength. They needed to be fast if they were going to catch up with the cars. This was going to knock them out later, but hey. You couldn’t have power without sacrifice.

Ahead of them men were shouting at each other. They seemed a little lost. Twelve of them, all in a state of panic, because word had filtered down now that for some reason a troupe member was hunting them for sport.

There was a silent woman in the midst of them, checking her texts. She seemed unperturbed at this development, but at Nox’s approach she looked up and locked eyes with them. Her Nen twisted and flared and the other men immediately shut up as she put her phone away.

“You’re not Feitan,” she said calmly.

Jewel, last name unknown, even to her. Marcus’s best woman. Feitan had already taken out his best men, but she was light years ahead of them. A decent challenge for Nox.

Nox stared at her in silence as the birds circled. She wouldn’t recognize them, the traitor that she was.

A victim of the ring who had learned Nen much like Hisoka had, but instead of actually recognizing the release to be had in dismantling it, she had recognized the power to be had in staying instead. She had joined Marcus’s gang not long after she had proven herself to be useful to the ring, and worked her way up to position herself in a point where she would take over and fully assimilate the gang into the ring as muscle.

Nox had met her once, when they were very young, right after Uvogin had tossed their drugged up body on the floor and accepted his payment. She was trying to get full release to join Marcus’s gang. She’d gotten it a year later, seven years ago now.

Nox remembered how she had commented that Nyx was very pretty.

She didn’t share the sexual interest their clients had. It still felt disgusting.

And here she was now, a full twenty seven years old, tall, leggy, pink haired, with ribbons wrapped around her wrists and palms.

“Don’t speak?” She asked, her voice as sweet and melodic as ever. “You have some lovely birds.”

Nox just stood and stared. They never signed to opponents, even on the off chance that they would understand them. It was better to be silent.

“If you aren’t Feitan, are you another troupe member, hm? Or just passing through?”

Seven, eight, nine. Their power was growing, and they filtered it into the birds circling over their head. Feitan had taken care of the full twenty five men heading to the mansion. Gin and Rum took off, miles away, and began to soar towards their parent. Always so reliable. Nox hadn’t even had to tell them.

“You  _ really  _ don’t talk, do you? Must I see you as a threat, darling?” The ribbons around her wrists came undone, spilling down into pretty piles on the concrete sidewalk. Two loops connected them to her, and the ribbons cut themselves in half to create four tails. The men cocked their guns and she tilted her head prettily. “I think I should. You seem to be feeling very frisky.”

Nox didn’t want to have to fight her with those guns in the equation. They knew those ribbons could slice through steel. If she cut their birds in half, they would have to draw on their reserves, and the further up the list they went, the more power they would expend.

That was the problem. Their fifty crows were organized in a list, and the further Nox went up the list, with the exception of number one, Ri, the higher base power their birds had. The last bird, Axis, could smash through a dam, reduce it to little more than wet dust in one blow. And when they activated their secondary ability, he hypothetically could break down a city. Hypothetically. It had never gotten that dire.

Ri, however, as number one, could take on the properties of any bird in their arsenal, and had a recuperative period of one hour. If need be, he could become a slightly underpowered Axis, if Nox was desperate to reserve Axis for the very end. But doing so was dangerous, and had left them unconscious for three days in the past to recuperate. However, Axis could retain a hit from those ribbons and still break through.

Nox ran through their options. The birds circled anxiously over their head. They needed to get the men out of Jewel’s range and let their murder pick them off.

Rum and Gin were close.

Not close enough. Nox couldn’t lose a single crow they currently had on hand. They weren’t supposed to find Jewel until the end. This was unlucky.

“I think you’re a threat,” Jewel said, cutting through Nox’s brain mechanics. “Are you with Feitan, or taking advantage of the chaos?”

Number forty, Angel, should do it.

Nox breathed in, breathed out, and Angel joined the murder circling over their head. Jewel’s head snapped up at the new Nen presence, trying to pick out which one had that surge of power in the lazily meandering stream of Nen, and Nox let Angel loose.

_ Sorry, baby. You get treats when you’re back _ , Nox promised. Angel was a glutton.

The crow swept down, too fast to follow, a blur of black on the black sky, and Nox leapt back as she slammed into the concrete.

The world exploded. Chunks flew in every direction and the ground shook. Men went flying as a crater opened the street, busting through the pipes, sending water spraying, and their crows swept in as Angel dissipated at the bottom of the pit.

Blood flew, before Nox even hit the ground. The twelve men exploded as the crows ripped holes in their chests, took their heads from their shoulders, tore their limbs from their torsos midair. It all happened in less than a second, and before Jewel could recover from the shock they were back in the air, out of range, circling overhead.

Broken asphalt crunched under combat boots as Nox slid back on their side of the pit, the skin on their fingers almost ripping. Blood dripped onto their leather fingerless gloves and Nox realized they’d been struck in the face with a piece of the road. Their eyebrow was cut. They hadn’t even felt it.

Angel had done her damage. The crater was thirty feet across, twenty feet deep. It reeked of sewer. She would get extra treats for the stench she had to endure. Poor baby. Torn limbs were left hanging on broken rebar, a corpse was laying across a broken and gushing pipe. Jewel stood on her side of the pit, woozy and coming to her senses.

The body dropped with a splash and Nox straightened up. Jewel looked up at the crows and then back down at the carnage in front of her. She had been hit with an arterial spray.

“Now wasn’t that something?” She looked giddy. Nox felt fairly giddy themselves with the amount of Nen flowing into them.

Ri landed back on their shoulder and nuzzled Nox’s cheek to wipe away the blood. Nox shifted their shoulder and he took off, high in the sky with the rest.

As a Conjurer of a certain power degree, even when grievously injured, Nox could maintain their birds. Even unconscious they could hang around and pull on their remaining Nen, so long as they had been previously summoned. Feitan was coming. He may already be here, cloaked in In to watch, knowing him. However, if Nox was grievously injured, they couldn’t conjure more. Losing any crows right now was out of the question. Higher numbers meant more damage they didn’t need to deal to the city. The ones here needed to finish the job, and they could, so long as Nox didn’t get killed. Nox and Nyx didn’t get killed, to be precise. Feitan would make sure that didn’t happen.

It was a good thing Nyx had finished the job earlier.

They couldn’t think about that right now.

What they needed to think about was the mission, and they would have to put their body on the line to get that done. The crows would finish the job. They always finished the job. Not once had they failed Nox, and the more they became real, the better they got.

Rum and Gin joined the murder, and Nox let Asmo, Kai, Yin, Yang, and Uno take flight to finish their work. Rum and Gin would make up for their loss should they need it. They were the only ones they had summoned that were in the thirties.

More Nen flowed through Nox. They had lost count of the bodies at this point. Ri was keeping track for them. They couldn’t focus on that right now.

Reaching under their short sleeve crop hoodie, encompassed by their crop jacket, they drew the two knives sheathed between their shoulder blades. Really, crop tops were superb for their preferred harness.

Two black knives gleamed in the dark, and the storm finally rolled in, drizzling down around them. Nox stared across the gap at Jewel, waiting, patient, reading her body language.

She was turned on. Nox could see it in her dilated pupils, in the slant of her lips, in the way she stood and let the ribbons sway in the wind as she  _ inhaled  _ the Nen pouring off of Nox. She looked intoxicated. Nox felt a little gross.

“ _ That _ ,” she breathed, “was the most impressive display of power I’ve seen in awhile. Look at the mess you made.”

Nox wasn’t one to be baited. Jewel licked her painted lips, and the petty side of Nox rose up, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of a fight.

They had to. And they were going to have to use the stolen Nen. Irritating. They’d need a nap after this.

Hisoka had done worse. They knew he had. In their gut, in their soul, they knew he had done worse for the twins, and they could give him this.

The knife in their right hand rotated to a backhand position, and they gathered their Nen to launch themselves across the gap.

Minimize damage. Don’t let Nyx get too hurt. Wrap it up quickly.

The ribbons lashed out as Jewel flew back, and the battle commenced.

The rain started really pouring down, and Nox used that to their advantage. They fought dirty. With the explosion, there was plenty of soil to get wet, and they kicked mud into her face to blind her. She dodged it, the ribbons soared through the air, but the water was slowing them down. Nox shifted, let them hit the wall of a building with a wet slap, slashed at her neck, and she leapt back as the ribbons on her left hand tried to catch Nox’s hand. Nox lunged back, just out of reach, and slammed their heel into the wall next to them. Nen from fresh kills poured through their body and they directed it into their Ko. The wall crumbled and the sign came down, almost catching Jewel over the head, but her ribbons soared to cut it in half. It still caught her shoulder, but that barely seemed to phase her.

Nox kicked up water into her face and powered in close. Her senses were too good, and her ribbons wrapped around the knife in Nox’s right hand to try and yank it from their grasp.

A bad move. Nox let it go slack, and then yanked, dragging her in an attempt to let the left knife drive in to her stomach. Jewel shifted, leaving Nox in a lunge with no target, and they let go of the trapped knife to roll forward and spin on one knee. With a free hand, they plucked a small throwing knife from their boot and threw it as hard as they could, a burst of Ko to up the momentum. That wouldn’t get her, but they took the distraction to power behind it and dive forward in another roll to sweep up the lost knife and come up fluidly.

The knife had caught her cheek. She was  _ furious _ and in a sex crazed haze all at the same time. Nox took advantage of her hormones to power through with their attack. More men were approaching, and their crows swept down to rip them to shreds. More Nen coursed through them as they slashed, blocked, dodged, lunged, using Ko and Shu left and right to push her back, closer, closer to the hole.

Nox dropped down low, slashed at her kneecaps, and she nearly fell to escape the deadly blades as Nox’s leg kicked out to set her off balance, forcing her to skid back a mere three feet away from the hole.

They needed to dispatch the ribbons. She wasn’t a Conjurer, but those ribbons were crafted by a Specialist. One couldn’t just cut them, or get them off of her.

Jewel was in a haze. This was her failing. Her insatiable appetite was going to be the death of her.

Nox kept pushing her back, kicking up water, aiming for the cheap shots, and Jewel just kept screaming in laughter as she attempted to herd them away from the pit.

“Oh, aren’t you the little  _ firecracker _ ?” She gasped. “You  _ must  _ be a switch.”

Yes, actually, but gross, really.

“I wonder what’s under all those clothes,” Jewel purred, and the ribbons lashed out as rage built in Nox’s chest.

The ribbons danced and slashed through their hoodie, splitting it open at the front to reveal their sports bra which was functionally useless given that they barely had anything there at all. A cut opened on Nox’s belly and the wound sizzled, half healing as the rest of the damage was redirected to Nyx. 

Too much. Nox did what they weren’t supposed to do: accessed the full amount of stolen Nen, and it was a  _ lot _ . They moved in a blur, faster than Jewel could follow, and a boot planted right in the center of Jewel’s designer covered chest to pitch her over the edge of the pit.

It wouldn’t be enough to kill her. Nox was pissed. This fucking woman was going to drive them into another meltdown.

More Nen coursed through them as their irritation reached their birds and across the city men exploded in showers of blood. Nox was going to kill her. That would divert the oncoming meltdown. They could not risk a meltdown. Not now. Not again.

Ribbons launched Jewel out of the pit, sending her high in the air, a crazed grin on her lips, limp wet hair soaring behind her, and then she simply … exploded.

Not like the men.

She exploded in a spray of blood. No bones left, no chunks larger than a Spider coin, falling with the rain, a few shreds of ribbon drifting down in pieces. A tooth clattered at Nox’s feet and Ri circled around their head as a rush of heady power surged through Nox’s body, making them stagger slightly.

_ Did you borrow from Angel? She’s exhausted. Leave her alone. _

There was the faintest hint of irritation from Ri. This was the problem with giving conjured animals some semblance of personality. They couldn’t behave.

Ri landed on their shoulder and Nox let out a long, staggering breath.

There were only fifteen men left. The birds above their head dispersed to the chop shop they were holed up in, and Ri stayed by Nox’s side, where he belonged.

“Crows?” A presence, cleverly shielded, emerged from the shadows of the alley. Feitan, watery and bloody, hands in pockets as he strode to Nox.

Nox nodded and buttoned up the jacket over their sliced top. They actually liked this hoodie. Maybe Machi could fix it.

They could feel Feitan’s aura. He was excited, as expected, and it almost made Nox feel sick until they realized he was consciously trying to mute it. That was … an actually sweet gesture.

“You name them?” Feitan asked as he tilted his head. “I watch. You give directions with Nen, they follow. You did not direct this one.”

Nox nodded. They needed to get out of here. Nox pitied the clean up it would take to fix that crater. Lots of taxpayer dollars in that mess.

“Who this one? His power flared a lot.”

“ _ R-i. Ri. _ ” Nox signed, first the finger spelling and then the actual name. “ _ Number one. _ ”

“Is very like you,” Feitan absorbed. “You draw animals like. And. Crow murder.”

With the rain, Nox had no way of correcting that slip up that was technically true. Oh, well. They knelt and picked up the discarded knives to slip them back into place. Feitan held out a hand. He’d gotten them their throwing knife back. Nox managed to let a smile slip through as they sheathed it.

“I already got bags from hotel. Should we go?”

Nox tilted their head. Gin let them know they were at the garage, and Nox took a deep breath, shaking as more Nen flowed into them.

They were all done. Feitan watched them carefully and Nox tucked the excess Nen back in their reserves. It would fade in a week, but it was good to hold it for as long as possible.

“They give you Nen?” He frowned slightly. They both knew that was dangerous.

Nox nodded and stood. The crows, their job done, faded away. Ri gave them a final nudge and Nox pulled out the treats to feed him before he vanished, too, a final feather floating down onto the ground. Feitan picked it up, spun it around in his fingers, felt the vibration of the remaining Nen, before he locked eyes with Nox.

“ _ Your hatsu is beautiful. _ ” His signing was shaky, a little uneven, but he was trying. Of course Feitan would consider a murderous murder of crows to be beautiful. Despite it all, despite how they felt like they were going to vibrate out of their skin with pure rage, they couldn’t help but smile. The meltdown was avoided. Their crows would like him. They loved being told they were beautiful.

“ _ Thank you. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I forgot to upload but I'm going to blame it on how fucking long this doc takes to load. Let me know what you think of Nox's ability! Thank you for sticking it out with my OCs!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	42. The Blades and The Orbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx faces their first opponent and Ky'ia is faced with a choice.

Night had fallen. There was a new split over Nyx’s brow and a long scratch on their stomach. Their fingers were burning, but in decent shape. They were honestly surprised they had any injuries at all. Either Nox was getting sloppy, or something had gone wrong. But there weren’t any other wounds, so it was safe to assume whatever had happened was taken care of.

The theme park was a 24 hour affair, but Ky’ia was worn out from the ordeal. They were contentedly sucking on a lollipop, hand tangled with Nyx’s, as the two walked through the parking lot. It had been a good day. It was a pity Nox had to go by themselves to take out the gang. This was rather nice. Not that Nyx was keen on them going anywhere with Feitan, but whatever. Hisoka was stressed enough.

Screams from rides echoed behind them as the two wove through cars.

“Hey, Nyx?” Nyx hummed in response. “This was nice. Thank you.”

“ _ You’re welcome. _ ”

“I liked the tower thingy.”

There was a flickering presence and Nyx tightened their grasp on Ky’ia’s hand as they froze in place. They had hoped their date had been enough to shake off any suspicions, but …

“Is something wrong?”

Nyx let go of Ky’ia’s hand and stepped forward, shrugging off their backpack to hand to their date. Theyfriend? Undetermined as of yet, but they didn’t have time to explain either way.

“Aw, you caught me.” The street lamps around them flickered and they waved Ky’ia back further. They weren’t ready for a fight like this.

A tall, lanky man stepped out from behind a van, hands tucked in his pockets, hair impeccably groomed. The paralegal from earlier today. Nyx wondered what had tipped him off so badly. Surely it wasn’t their auras. Ky’ia shifted behind them and Nyx shook their head no. No, Nyx could handle this one easily enough. He seemed to have changed into something befitting a theme park. Had he been following them long? Rude.

“You know, I almost ignored you two,” he said casually as he stepped out into the lane between the cars. A keyring whirred around his finger and he grasped it. “But, you know, yesterday we got a new person. With impeccable En. It covers the whole building and street. You see, when I mentioned something to her, she said she had felt something, but thought it was some kind of flare. When I pressed it, she said she just thought she should ignore it. Very out of character for her.”

Nyx didn’t look at Ky’ia. At least the hypnosis training worked? Point for Ky’ia.

“I thought it was a little enough thing that I should follow you around for a day or so. After all, it’s not often you see two users as young as you two.” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. A very familiar wallet. Nyx felt like they could kick themselves for the slip up.

“Cute fake identity. Very realistic.” He tossed it, high up in the air, and Nyx caught it swiftly. “Why anyone would pretend to be Hisoka Morrow’s little sibling is beyond me. Fact is, I checked. You only appeared on paper about three years ago, to get this license. So who are you  _ really _ ?”

His Nen swelled significantly and Nyx took a long, low breath to gather themselves. If their research checked out, this man would be useless against them. He might as well try to fight the tide.

Swords appeared in thin air, lances, javelins, and they all plummeted towards Nyx and Ky’ia, who looked a little panicked. They weren’t ready to use Neverland in actual combat. That was fine. Nyx could manage.

Their own aura swelled and the weapons screeched to a halt six feet from the two of them. Drifting, they fell in gentle spirals, turning, bumping into each other as Nyx tilted their head at the man. What was his name again? They couldn’t be bothered.

The Nen shifted and the weapons crumpled in on each other before clattering to the ground.

Nyx wasn’t anywhere near Nox’s level. The fact of the matter was, while Nyx excelled in many areas, if Nox had a way to turn something into art, they exceeded all expectations. As a bonus, as a Conjurer, Nox had a far wider range than Nyx could ever hope to achieve.

That didn’t mean Nyx wasn’t a force to be reckoned with, or inadequate compared to Nox’s complexity. They were a scientist at heart, and scientists always created the best Nen abilities. Gravity was the force that could kill anyone, at any time. You could try to beat gravity, but it would always win. It was difficult, but as long as you understood math and physics, the difficulty decreased drastically and it became what it was: ultimately a simple hatsu. They had practiced for hours, days, to mimic gravity, decrease it, increase, drop it to zero. And they had a  _ very  _ long range for being a Transmuter. If someone got caught in their microgravity, they could siphon off their aura and use it to increase it even further, among other things. Ky’ia would learn how to take aura from a distance without touching eventually. Perhaps even Gon, if he wanted to take the risk, though the ability was more suited to Conjurers, Manipulators, and Transmuters.

They watched his face change in the dark. Confusion, and then worry, and then exhilaration.

“So you’re a Transmuter.”

_ So you’re dead. _

He thought he had a chance. Poor thing. Nyx just let a slow, hungry smile split their lips, and then they let him know their range.

Their aura flared dramatically. Like a tsunami, it stretched out across the parking lot, hitting the end of the street, reaching the ticket stands. Gravity kept the world turning, the planet alive. Without gravity, it would all fall apart, get sucked into the eternal void of space. Gravity kept them perfectly close enough to the sun to live. Gravity was the reason for the existence of the world.

If Nyx could take it away, that was as close as it got to being a god.

Cars began to float, bumping into each other gently as Ky’ia rose up behind them and latched onto their sweater to stay in place. Nyx watched as the man struggled to summon up his weapons, as if that would do him any good. His Nen flared in an attempt to conjure a blade, and Nyx lashed out. The Nen he mustered was ripped from his body, straight into Nyx’s, and they rolled their eyes back in pleasure. Delicious.

“Nyx, what are you…?”

Ah, right. They didn’t want Ky’ia to see this next bit. Nyx grabbed them, dragged them down, spun them in zero gravity so their face buried against their shoulder.

And then their eyes locked with the man’s and they smiled, bright, blazing like the sun. It was so interesting to see someone who knew they were about to die.

Nyx shifted the aura around him in an instant. The human heart can take at maximum 5g of gravity. For ruining a perfectly good date with Ky’ia and forcing them to show Ky’ia how nasty they could be? He would be receiving 9g. It was a pity he was so powerful on average. For such a powerful hatsu, there were conditions, though not as severe as Nox’s. To actually crush someone, Nyx had to use their stolen Nen on them. The more powerful someone was, the worse it got, if Nyx was so inclined. Of course, there were a variety of ways to kill someone with gravity. Even just increasing it to 5g, maybe 5.5g, they could make someone’s heart give out. If they crushed someone, the condition demanded that they lose as much Nen as used for the next sixty minutes.

This wasn’t going to take a lot of power from them. After all, their aura was immense. Nyx tilted their head and then crunched down.

There wasn’t much left of him to drop onto the pavement as Nyx released their aura and let it all suck back into themselves. Ky’ia’s feet hit the ground as cars crashed down around them. Alarms blared and Nyx stroked their hair. Ky’ia pulled back and their eyes widened at the grotesque mess. Nyx pulled them back to look at them.

“ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

Ky’ia looked marginally horrified. Nyx felt awful that they couldn’t really feel awful. This was business as usual for them.

They were from different worlds, them and Ky’ia. Nyx pursed their lips and pulled their phone out of their pocket.

**This is what it looks like. To do what we do. You don’t have to get on the front lines if you don’t want to.**

“I… I don’t think I want to.”

**That’s fine. I wouldn’t want you to. Let’s get out of here before the cops come.**

Hopefully, the man hadn’t told anyone they were “masquerading” as Hisoka’s younger sibling. Even if he did, Hisoka should be able to spin it, like he always did. There were fail safes. They had fail safes for everything

A stone sunk in Nyx’s gut as they realized that Ky’ia may see them in a different light now. There was a difference in watching people’s lives and actually living your own.

It was a pity. Nyx was actually developing a bit of a crush. But, all the same, they couldn’t deny the fact that they would probably go through a circuit of people who would eventually see them for what they were. Fact of the matter was, Nyx was willing to kill anyone so long as they reached their goals, good or bad. They lied sometimes and said it was only for this cause, but that wasn’t the sort of habit you shook. It would stay the same. It was always going to stay the same.

Hopefully when Ky’ia inevitably deservedly crushed their heart Nyx wouldn’t bounce back quickly. It was preferable that way, and logical.

They needed to get Ky’ia home. A hot bath or shower did wonders for seeing your first real death in person, and for realizing you were an accessory to murder. Even if the victim in question was trying to kill you. Not that he would have  _ ever  _ gotten close to Ky’ia. No, Nyx was too possessive to let that shit slide.

No one was going to lay a hand on Ky’ia unless Ky’ia asked them to fight on their own. Period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay two Nen abilities revealed in a row here we go! Unfortunately we won't see much of Shadow Strike anymore f but I hope their abilities made up for it!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	43. The Half and The Crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan has revelations about his feelings for Nox.

Nox was still passed out on the motel bed. Feitan literally didn’t know what to do. It was a day’s drive to get back to the manor, and Nox had been drifting off in the car on the way there. They had given him a brief explanation when they finally got to the motel, stumbled into the shower, and then immediately crawled into bed, wet hair and all. He hated that habit of theirs.

**I have fifty crows. With the exception of Ri, two through fifty increase in power as the list goes up. You saw forty, using about half of her power when she made that hole, but the impact killed her, so I won’t be able to summon her for 12 hours. They feed me the aura from their prey, and my power increases. I can feed it back into them, use it myself, or put it in reserve for seven days before I lose it. If I use it, the condition is that it exhausts me. I am able to maintain them even when heavily injured, but unable to conjure more if I am injured to the point where I am out of it, as each one takes full concentration to manifest. Ri, the one you met, is able to take on the properties of any bird in the murder as a fail safe, only has a recharge period of one hour, and can be summoned automatically when I am unconscious. He can only take on their properties if they are “dead” or not summoned. If Ri takes on another bird’s properties, like Angel, the condition is that I am physically drained, but if he does that it’s likely that I have already used a shit ton of stolen Nen anyways. Ri took on Angel, and I used the stolen Nen to fight Jewel, so I’m gonna pass out for awhile. If I sleep too long, just stuff me in the car and call it a day. Night.**

Feitan understood Conjurers as not being able to make things without limits. If you wanted to create a sword that could cut through anything, you had to make a condition. If you wanted to make chains that could not break, you had to make a condition. It was somewhat similar to his own ability, Pain Packer. He couldn’t create Rising Sun without being hit. While Nox’s birds weren’t limitless, per se, he could see that they were created with such loving care that they were effectively real living beings that could cheat death.

Unless they were limitless. If the impact from Angel was only at half strength, and she was not fifty, it was possible that fifty was limitless. He didn’t know how their power scale increased, as when they were circling their auras all blended together to hide which one was the highest threat. It was unlikely. They were highly advanced, but not limitless in power, unless there was another condition Nox wasn’t telling them about. The 12 hour refractory period was a condition set to allow death to be cheated, and he found it interesting that someone such as Nox cared enough to want to cheat it.

Very often, conditions and hatsus were indicative of what the user truly desired more than anything in the world. For Feitan, it was the desire to burn everything to the ground and leave his enemies as husks. It had always, always been about the desire to have the power to hit back harder, faster, more painfully, to throw aside limits and burn the people who had dared to hurt him. He had always been very small, even as a child. In his homeland, he had always been relentlessly bullied, picked on, shoved around, called a street rat until life and death threw him across the continent to Meteor City. His first real friends had been beaten and bloodied like him. When he first met Chrollo, he was being beaten senseless for stealing a can of beans. Chrollo had put a stop to that, pulled Feitan to his feet, and told him one day he would hit harder.

And so Feitan had hit harder.

He’d never cared to learn the why of someone’s hatsu outside of the troupe, but try as he might to ignore it, he always figured it out easily. Hisoka, now that he knew more of him, was simple: Hisoka wanted his life to be simpler. He had clung to Bungee Gum and how it was formed out of the memory of how things could be easier, simpler, more joyful. Simple pleasures. It was odd to think of Hisoka and his unbeatable hatsu as soft. Ky’ia’s hatsu had been formed out of desperation, but Feitan was certain they would come to understand their need to rewrite reality and envision things in their own understanding. Breaking out of one culture and into another was hard. You couldn’t simply understand the new culture without having to apply your own lense. Nox and Nyx’s hatsu was based on the concept of moving as one, weaponizing the shadows they had been forced into, using them as a redemption in complete unity. Phinks was also rather simple. Much like Feitan, it was a desire to hit harder than someone hit him. Life until the troupe had been nothing but a series of knocks for him, and he got sick of being a punching bag. He was so sickly when they first met. Feitan had almost worried he’d drop dead when Chrollo pulled him out of the trash. Machi was someone that fixed things. Whenever there was a problem in the troupe, one word from her would fix it. Something about Machi drew people in. The twins had trusted her in a matter of days because of that something.

Nox’s independent hatsu, therefore, was interesting to him. When they were with Nyx, they were one minded, powerful, driving forward. But they had feared they would never be separate from Nyx. Was that what spurned the idea behind a murder of crows? Separate from each other, but traveling together as one. As free as the skies. And then the additional condition that they have a regeneration period of 12 hours. Did Nox fear death? They had chosen to give their birds personalities, intelligence, sentience. Of that, Feitan was certain. Ri had acted independently, made a decision based on Nox’s distress. Was the concept of losing them too much to bear? If Nox died, so did Nyx, and vice versa. The fact that they had done nothing to change that spoke to a deep conviction he could never understand.

Part of the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about their hatsu was because he was worried they felt trapped in this dynamic with their sibling. Hisoka didn’t say anything about their decision to carry on with sharing pain. Then again, Feitan was likely the last person he would talk to about it. Did he condone it, or did he think it wasn’t his place to tell them were being idiots?

Because, ultimately, cultural value or not, they weren’t in their tribe anymore. They did not exist in a safe bubble. They were actively putting their lives on the line at least once a week, powering forward in the name of vengeance. They were killing each other. Feitan understood stringent cultural values, but he really couldn’t picture any ghost agreeing with their decision to effectively murder each other one day. Because that was what it was. Their decision to remain as they were, and continue to do what they did, meant they were actively choosing to kill each other. Feitan didn’t balk at murder. He embraced it, in fact. But even that seemed wrong to him.

It didn’t seem healthy. Perhaps knowledge of Nyx’s hatsu would provide a little light into the situation.

In any case, focusing on the why of Nox’s hatsu was a bit too much to deal with right now, because he was still swooning a little at the sheer amount of power they had displayed. And not only the power, but the tactical decisions made moments before combat. Nox was a very physical person. He knew that much. But the decision to not use the crows to attack Jewel was a tactical decision, not personal. Should they have been grievously injured, the crows would have finished the job. In a moment, they decided to fight someone with a decided tactical advantage in hand to hand Nen combat without wasting a single crow, and summoned one to sacrifice it a split second later to even the odds. It was clear they had been doing this for some time. They could read a combat scenario as quickly as Hisoka.

But the fact that they risked death and ultimately throwing the mission was … Or had they?

Feitan turned his attention back to Nox. They were still sleeping rather peacefully, having taken their medications before crawling into bed after shooting Nyx a text. The exhaustion was keeping the pain from flaring, kept them still on the bed. Perhaps that was why they had chosen that condition. It actually made sense. Sleeping fitfully after a fight was a certain kind of hell.

Their fist was curled around a gleam of gold and he drew near, carefully pried their fingers open.

It was the coin half.

About twenty seven feelings flared in Feitan’s chest as the full equation crashed in on him.

They hadn’t put their life on the line.

They had trusted Feitan to keep not only them from dying, but Nyx. They had taken something so fragile, something so close to their heart, and placed it in Feitan’s grasp. And he hadn’t even realized it.

The troupe had a mantra. Fights belong to the person battling. When he had fought the Chimera Ant queen, the odds of a troupe member jumping in if he was ever really in trouble was slim to none. They might, of course, but it depended on their whims. Unless there was an agreement beforehand, they simply relied on the gamble of how someone was feeling. There was trust, yes, but not like this.

Feitan thought he was going to faint. A long breath escaped his lips and he sat on the edge of the bed, coin grasped tightly between his fingers. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Normally, this would have been a dealbreaker. Something to laugh at, something to kill them for. He had killed several previous fascinations for this sin. He could kill them. They were dead to the world. One blow would have been punishment for their mistake, Nyx be damned, and no one would know better. No one even knew he was here. Nox hadn’t told a soul, and neither had Feitan. It was a secret getaway of sorts. Even if anyone did know, it could have been passed off as death in combat.  _ No one would know. _

Feitan remembered blonde hair and green eyes and confusion and anger and pain.

_ “You’re Feitan Portor! You don’t let people live!” _

He hadn’t just let the kid live. He had saved him from his inevitable hatsu, his hatsu that killed anything and everything, his hatsu he had never once controlled once released. His eye was still swollen shut from the blow.

He had saved his life, and he had done it because even if they didn’t know, would never know, it was what Nox would have wanted subconsciously, even if they were logically pissed there was a survivor. Someone else was being taken advantage of, and now he would have another chance, even if he didn’t even know he was being taken advantage of, even if he didn’t know that he had been given a chance.

He hadn’t been trying to impress Nox right then. He had no intentions of ever telling them there was a survivor, a survivor who may want to come back for vengeance.

He hadn’t been trying to impress them. He had been trying to be the man they deserved.

Feitan never cried. It wasn’t in his wiring. But he had the urge as he stared at that coin because he had a desire he had never known before. He wanted to be someone else. Still Feitan, still deadly, still dangerous, but someone worthy of this little pile on the bed. This tiny thing, so hardened against the world, with a venomous tongue and nasty temper, this tiny person intent on being bigger, stronger, on being the inevitable end to a legacy of pain and torment and perversion. This tiny thing had taken their fragile little life and trusted him to protect it without saying a word.

This tiny little thing, ultimately powerless against Feitan, weak in comparison, with their love of birds and the free air, lonely enough to make their own friends, had effortlessly stripped away all of his strength and power, because he  _ couldn’t do it. _

Feitan Portor, finally brought to his knees.

As he thought back to the fight, of how that woman gleamed with sexual interest, at how he had felt conflicted as he watched it, he knew they were right in making their gamble.

He had felt two things at once. He was feeling that a lot nowadays. When he fought that boy, he had been furious at the people that were grooming him to become the monsters they were. But he had also felt the need to protect him, even for a moment.

When he watched Nox fight, he had been turned on. Literally anyone with eyes would have been, and maybe even some without. They were deadly. Powerful. Unbearably smart and bold. They moved like a jungle cat, with all of their hard work bleeding out of them. Watching them move was erotic, how they fought dirty, took all the cheap shots, used their environment as a weapon. When they knocked that wall in to make the sign fall he thought he might faint. They connected the dots before the dots even formed and it was  _ hot. _

But he had also been furious. He wanted to rip Jewel’s head from her shoulders himself. The way she leered at Nox, made it clear she was getting off to this, how she clearly wanted to beat Nox without killing them so she could fuck them … Feitan had been angry for Nox. And for himself. He was possessive to a fault. He acted on instinct. Many a person had died for the crime of gazing at those he was fascinated with. The only thing that kept him from diving into the fray to kill her himself was the knowledge that Nox  _ needed  _ to kill her to avoid being worked up into a meltdown themselves. He knew the psychology of a CSA victim, and he knew Nox. It was amazing how much you can learn from just sitting in relative silence with someone. They needed that satisfaction. It was probably one of the things that kept them going. Even if she wasn’t one of the active pedophiles, her behavior was enough to drive them up the wall.

And instead of just ignoring that need in pursuit of his own satisfaction, he had let them finish. He didn’t childishly view them as  _ his, _ and therefore not needing their own autonomy. He viewed them as Nox. His Nox. Not just his. His  _ Nox. _ When had this progressed to him viewing them as his at all?

Holding this little piece of metal, he had to wonder if they would have been fine with him killing on their behalf.

Nox was doing something to him. A hardened killer’s hand, so close to snapping their neck in an effort to rid himself of the feelings in his chest, smoothed over messy, tangled curls instead.

He pressed the coin back into their grasp and stood abruptly. He was going to wake them up. They needed to sleep. They were going on four hours now. And he still had his hair matted with blood, though most of it had been washed out with the rain.

Feitan ran into the bathroom, trying to put a door between him and his feelings, and slid down against the worn, splintered wood.

It was fine. It would fade. Nox likely didn’t have any feelings towards him beyond the base levels of attraction. They would fade before this was all over, and then he would be fine again. He would be himself again.

Right?

Feitan was not someone who questioned himself. He was always, definitively, Feitan. The merciless killer, the torturer, the bad person. He was never going to be a good person. He knew that. But something about Nox, no, something about all of the Morrows wanted him to try. Most specifically Nox, but the little family unit that had been forcibly assimilated into the troupe was special. He’d just seen Nox kill. He had seen Hisoka kill, many times, but Nox did it without a mask. There was bloodlust. There was no regret. There was pleasure. He flickered in and out of In enough to see it boiling up and off of them. They  _ liked  _ it.

There was still the fact that they were, objectively, a better person than Feitan. All of the Morrows were, and they were still a little ugly, a little twisted, a little off, and they accepted that wholeheartedly. There was no hypocrisy in that family. Sure, Hisoka was a little deluded, but at the end of the day all of them accepted the fact that they were killers. There was this aura of “yeah, ultimately, killing as many people as we have, some innocent, some ignorant, some bystanders, some definitely guilty, guilty as sin, operating as judge, jury, and executioner, warps us as people. But it has to be done, so we might as well enjoy ourselves. Whatever.”

It was intoxicating to see in live time.

He was never going to be like that.

The irony of this situation hit him and a deep cackle rose up, quiet, soft, so as not to wake Nox.

Hisoka had been so worried about Nox and no one had thought to worry about Feitan.

Objectively, Nox was incredibly powerful. Running with the troupe demanded they meet their standards, and they were about on even footing with most of them. But to handle such an incredibly complex hatsu, they had to make far too many sacrifices. That left them weak. Not that they seemed to care. Even so, they did not compare to Feitan’s raw strength. His very aura could encompass a city if he was pissed enough. And not a small city. A city of York New’s proportions. All the same, Conjurers had a different kind of strength anyways, and you couldn’t compare their auras to Transmuters.

His entire life revolved around strength. They shouldn’t be impacting him like this. They weren’t strong enough, and yet here he was, hiding from them in a bathroom. Fearing their power.

Pathetic. He couldn’t even be mad at them, no matter how much he tried. He was only mad at himself.

It made him wonder what Nyx’s aura looked like, compared to Nox’s complexity.

He wondered if they knew that they were actually better, more powerful, when they existed separately. Shadow Strike was the perfect offense and defense, of course. But no matter how powerful it was, it fell flat simply because they were better people as individuals. There was artistry that it lacked, no matter how breathtaking it was to witness. There was no amount of power they could pour into it that compared to how personal Nox’s was. The more personal the hatsu was, the more it increased in power. It was simply how it was.

Feitan’s phone lit up with a text from Kortopi, forcing him out of his reflections.

**Where are you??**

**Does it matter?**

**Yes. Hisoka is in a fit. Nyx’s job went south. You should get back.**

**Why?**

**Because literally everyone noticed that Nox’s bike is here but your car isn’t.**

Apparently everyone knew where he was. They forgot about the bike. Good thing Nox had somehow managed to kill him before he could kill them.

**How Nyx’s job go south? Nox is not extra injured.**

**Well they took CARE of it. I think someone caught on and pickpocketed them.**

Nox’s license read as Nox Morrow. Why they didn’t carry fake identification, Feitan didn’t know. It seemed like an egregious oversight.

**Is Hisoka not doing damage control?**

**I mean he IS. I guess they play it off like the twins are in some kinda game with him, trying to make shit difficult for him, so it’s easier to cover up. He’s still pissed about Nox taking off with you.**

**Was logical. Made the purge easier.**

**Yeah, I’m sure that was the only reason you decided on a weekend murder retreat. Just get back. Please. He’s creepier than normal. Phinks has been hiding in the garage for like six hours now.**

**He is always creepy. Phinks is coward. I will be back when I am back.**

**I will let you take any job from me you want if you rush.**

**… any?**

**Any.**

**I want Korjo Casino.**

**… I can take you with.**

**Deal.**

Nox wouldn’t like Hisoka to be unduly stressed. Well, they had gone with Feitan with full knowledge that he  _ would  _ be stressed, but they didn’t need to make it worse. Feitan stood up and studied the shower. He probably needed a quick rinse off. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped in and ran through the motions as quickly as he could. Rinse, scrub, wash the blood out of his hair with the shampoo they had decided to share. He liked this shampoo. It was Nox’s, and it smelled heavenly. Like peaches. Though he liked it better on them.

Phinks had told him he was being creepy about their hair, but it could be so  _ pretty  _ if they stopped falling asleep with it wet. That wasn’t creepy to think. It was a very fair assessment. They could at least braid it.

Shuffling back into the bedroom, he looked down at Nox with pursed lips. He didn’t want to disturb them. They were exhausted. But they would likely be more upset if Feitan didn’t. Carefully, he pried the coin from their grasp and picked them up, letting their head loll onto his shoulder. They had maybe an inch of height on him. They still seemed smaller. Probably because Feitan was built more solidly.

They barely winced in pain before they settled down. Feitan almost felt guilty as he carried them out to his car and slid them into the passenger seat. The trash bag full of bloody clothes was tossed into the narrow backseat and he slipped behind the wheel. The sports car purred to life and he reflected on the fact that they had been upset over the hoodie, picking at it relentlessly until they eventually passed out. Maybe Machi could fix it.

Funny. It was half the weight, but the coin felt heavy in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may update twice in an upload so let me know in the comments if any of you are habitual readers who want four chapters a week or if you want to stay at two. The fic is finished so it isn't a huge issue on my end, but I'd like to hear opinions to temper my impatience. Updates may change to Monday and Thursday at the end of this month depending on my work schedule.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	44. The Mountain and the Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Gon have a long talk about what constitutes love.

Had Hisoka not been carefully exercising his control, he would have killed Feitan the second the man rumbled up the drive. Ky’ia and Gon had already gone to spar, Nyx was brainstorming with Shalnark on how to fix this new problem should they need to do more damage control than Hisoka normally had to do, which left Hisoka alone to deal with Feitan and Nox.

Nox. They never thought before they jumped. What had possessed them to take Feitan with them? Were they jealous that Nyx got to go with Ky’ia? Was that it? Was Hisoka not spending enough time with them? Nyx rarely talked about what was going through their head, but then again Nyx was never troubled beyond the basic items. Nox was different. Either they were unpacking everything that was going through their head for the past three months in a tearful meltdown, or they were acting out until they got to that point.  _ This,  _ though? This was the biggest act out Hisoka had ever even seen. Revealing their individual hatsu to someone? Nox?  _ His  _ little sibling? And to Feitan? Was this because of … No. He wouldn’t entertain the reminder of why their meltdowns had been few and far in between this past year.

There was no way Feitan hadn’t seen Dance with Crows. What was next? Nox show him Black Symphony? The level of risk Nox was running was unbelievable. Had they been possessed? Was that it? That had to be it. Hisoka needed to call a priest.

Feitan pulled into the garage and Hisoka very nearly pursed his lips at the image before him. Nox, passed out, with their cheek pressed against the window. Feitan next to them while they were so vulnerable. He didn’t like it. Nox hadn’t seen him as a threat. If they had, even subconsciously, the coma wouldn’t have kicked in. Nyx said Ri borrowed Angel. That was six hours at minimum, with no absorbed and used Nen, and given that they had likely killed at minimum one hundred people and certainly used that Nen, because they had no self control?

Twenty four hours, and likely vomiting when they woke up. How long had they been sleeping?

Feitan stepped out of the car and Hisoka moved before he got the chance to retrieve Nox, hefting them up and ignoring the muffled cry of pain. He shifted them ever so slightly so their head rested on his shoulder and stared at Feitan.

“If you say anything, I’ll kill you.”

Feitan stared back at him, the threat hanging in the air, before he pulled the two duffles out of the back and the trash bag.

“You underestimate their impact,” Feitan replied shortly and Hisoka tilted his head.

Feitan’s aura was muted. That was normal. He kept it very close to his body, but … Its normal base state was bloodthirsty, hungry, craving more, more, more. It seemed more melancholy than anything right now.

What had happened?

Did they fight?

Feitan swept past Hisoka, and Hisoka’s brain short circuited.

They were sharing shampoo.  _ That  _ was a whole other level of intimacy.

The garage door slammed, leaving Hisoka with Nox, and he realized, rather belatedly, that Feitan had been so kind as to carry Nox’s bag. What the fuck …?

Nox stirred with a little moan and Hisoka remembered this position was going to put too much pressure on their pelvis. He needed to get them inside and in bed. Really, he should be doing damage control right now, but his obsessive nature just didn’t allow him to leave it be. And in any case, someone had to be there when they woke up and inevitably started vomiting. They were too stubborn about using a bucket. They had to use the toilet.

Hisoka carried them into the house and up the stairs.

He could never figure out why Nox was possessed with the urge to make things over complicated. Plenty of Conjurers had abilities that were just as powerful and didn’t have so many overlapping conditions. But, no, they  _ had  _ to give their crows sentience,  _ had  _ to add in multiple fail safes,  _ had  _ to bring them back from the dead instead of just make more because of their sentience,  _ had  _ to name all fifty of them. Hisoka had just accepted it as it was, even if it baffled him. Nyx was more like him. Sure, to mimic gravity properly, there had to be some degree of math to it, math they could calculate in their sleep, but it was ultimately simple. Gravity was simple.

Then again, Hisoka spent more time with fellow Transmuters and Manipulators. They tended to keep things simple, while Conjurers liked to push the boundaries of what could be done, surpass the limitations imposed on them. Conjurers were complicated.

Nox always made things more complicated than need be.

At the very least Feitan now understood that they could stand on equal footing with the troupe. Maybe not with  _ him.  _ Not even Bungee Gum could beat out Rising Sun. After all, what was Hisoka going to do, throw gum at the literal sun? But he was number 2 for a reason. Feitan wasn’t the sort to take Nox’s ability as a challenge. He couldn’t be bothered with challenges unless someone was egging him on.

What had that even meant, Hisoka wondered as a strand of Bungee Gum threw the blankets aside so he could slip Nox under the covers.

Their impact?

Hisoka fixed the covers back over them and preemptively pulled back their hair into a loose pony. Nox shivered and curled up into a ball and Hisoka remembered again how they looked up at him from the rubble.

How far they had come, to have Feitan Portor recognize them in such a way.

It was still hard to reconcile those damaged kids he’d saved out of desperation were the young adults he saw before him now.

He’d been warned by Klaus, the eldest of five siblings, that the teenage years were going to be hard. There was going to be a lot of fights, a lot of schisms, as they came into themselves. The pressure they lived under would only make it worse. Given that Hisoka both functioned as an older brother and a single parent, it was going to be even harder as he grappled with those two identities and the twins struggled to connect with him.

He knew there were going to be fights. They had plenty of them. But Nox had gone and gotten themselves Feitan for a boyfriend, for lack of better phrasing. It was practically the equivalent of them getting a bad boy in leather on a motorcycle. Normally, it was something that was resolved naturally as they learned Feitan really didn’t care about them. But that was a pain Hisoka wanted to protect them from.

He knew they were an adult now, though a young one. They were also incredibly sheltered, despite it all. Hisoka was well aware of the consequences of that sheltering. The hard knocks of a normal life were something they were unprepared for. He knew that he was supposed to be letting them make their own mistakes, but for the life of him he could not leave it be.

Feitan’s comment still made no sense.

What impact?

With a sigh, Hisoka fell into a chair in the corner of the room and unlocked his phone. He could not be worrying about this right now. Any moment now Alexandre would be texting him. He didn’t want to talk to him. He never wanted to talk to him.

And, like clockwork, his phone pinged with a text.

**Soka, love. Your little game is coming into my territory again.**

Hisoka took a deep breath, steeled himself, and slipped into character.

**I thought I was your territory, mm…**

**Your little fan popped up at the law firm.**

**Oh? How frisky.**

**Did you lead them there?**

**No one said I couldn’t be playing two chessboards.**

**Careful, or someone will kill them before you do. I’d hate for you to lose the satisfaction.**

**How rude of you. …. I’m always careful, Papa ~**

Alexandre didn’t text back, and Hisoka let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He hated talking to him, but, really, he should be used to it by now. After all, he had known Alexandre long before this mission ever began. He was the first. Hisoka’s slave master, now the proud “adoptive” father of his chaotic and vicious “son”.

Hisoka let his head fall against the wall with a thunk. The stone in his gut was a familiar feeling by now. It would pass. He was just more keyed up than normal.

Crisis averted. He had been more upset that he would have to talk to Alexandre than anything else. This had happened three times before. It was the precise reason the twins took on his name, and why Nyx had about thirty seven different semi permanent dyes back at the bungalow. They switched off their identities often, and their hair could  _ not  _ hold dye for more than a week. As far as Alexandre and therefore his circle knew, they were one person with approximately three false identities: Sol, Nyx, and Nox. It was a simple solution, so simple it was foolproof. All of their scars were identical, and the last set of twins that shared pain were dead to the world, never to produce anymore. So Nox and Nyx were able to share an identity without anyone being the wiser.

It still freaked Hisoka out every time there was a slip up. They had circled through every identity now.

These twins were going to be the death of him. And Nox, the little manipulative fuck, was going to pull at his heartstrings the second they woke up so he would forgive them in an instant. They had probably planned to pass out. He hated it when they were sick. Never once had he caught the flu, so the first time the twins caught it he had been panicked for days. He thought they were going to die. Klaus had practically been kidnapped and locked away in the bungalow for a week.

The doctor thought it was hilarious. He’d gotten used to Hisoka’s kidnapping attempts at that point, and due to his position his work paid for the days he was missing anyways. With the money he raked in for them, they couldn’t afford not to. He was too valuable. It was a fact of life at Hyban; every so often Klaus got kidnapped, they called the cops, his unnamed and unseen bodyguard dragged him back, and business resumed as usual.

Hisoka’s eyes fell back on Nox and narrowed drastically. That was not their shirt. They were objectively not wearing their own shirt.

This was too much. They wouldn’t be waking up for awhile. Hisoka stood in a flourish and stalked out of the bedroom.

Nox was going to drive him into an aneurysm. Nox and Feitan both.

Why the  _ fuck  _ were they wearing Feitan’s shirt?

He reached the stairs and paused at the sight below. There was Gon, laying across the stairs, literally at the incline (how was that comfortable), eyes closed as he pulled his aura in and out with each breath. Was this some kind of meditation?

“Gon.”

Gon opened his eyes and tilted his head slightly to look up at Hisoka.

“What are you doing.”

Gon sat up and turned to look up at Hisoka.

“Ky’ia taught me a new meditation, but there’s no mountains to lay on, so I thought the stairs would work.” Ah, right. That meditation Ky’ia did before bed when they went outside and laid in the grass. Hisoka rubbed his temples irritably.

“You don’t need to actually be at an incline to do that. It works better when you lay on the ground. Actual ground. Outside.”

It was a control exercise, meant to heighten awareness of your aura and bring it fully in tune with your body. Over several weeks, one could eventually gain the kind of control Ky’ia needed for their hatsus so you had an ability to pour Nen into a smaller and smaller point. It was probably a good exercise for an Enhancer. He hadn’t thought of how that could apply that principle to Ko.

Gon looked surprised. Hisoka had no idea why.

“I trained with you for a week and that was the first time you actually tried to be helpful.”

Rude little fuck.

Hisoka advanced down the stairs and Gon stood, wary of his presence.

“I am not a helpful person.” In fact, Hisoka just had no idea how to direct Gon. The twins were different. Very different.

“I don’t understand,” Gon blurted and Hisoka resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Whatever it is, just go ahead and add it to the list of things not to ask me.”

“I saw the twins’ aura.” And there it was. Doing exactly what Hisoka had told him  _ not  _ to do. “It was compressed but it was huge. I don’t understand how you taught them when you suck at teaching.”

Had the twins been so obnoxiously bold and rude at Gon’s age? Hisoka scarcely remembered. Definitely Nox, maybe Nyx.

“The twins were different than you,” Hisoka replied as he made his way to the kitchen. He needed to eat. Gon followed him. He was such a pain.

“You used to say I was different.” Gon sounded a little insecure. Poor thing. Hisoka was not going to try to make him feel better.

“That doesn’t mean I wanted to teach you anything.”

Hisoka pulled open the fridge and selected his day old take out. He was not in the mood to cook right now. It was going to be his turn to get groceries next week, and wasn’t that obnoxious? The troupe evidently had an account they put a portion of their money from jobs in for basic household expenses. Hisoka had already put in some, but he needed to pick up a job pretty soon. Replacing wardrobes had made a dent in his savings.

“Then why did you want to teach them?”

Hisoka sighed as the microwave began to run. Gon was like a stubborn tick.

“I didn’t. I gave them the choice and stuck to their decision. And they’re very different than you.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means that you have an excess of natural ability, which is to be expected, given your father, but they do, too, and it was easier to apply my principles to theirs. I am better suited to teach students that have abilities more consistent with immaterial things, not physical.”

“You mean the shadow thingy,” Gon supplied and Hisoka rubbed his eyes. Questions, questions, questions.

“Yes, I mean the ‘shadow thingy’. You’re an Enhancer. If you weren’t so stubborn, you should be asking Phinks for pointers. He’s far more ‘helpful’ than me.”

“Feitan gave me some,” Gon muttered, as though he was ashamed to admit it, and irritation flared again.

“I would prefer to not discuss Feitan right now. He’s a rather pesky thorn at the moment.”

“Because he likes Nox?”

“Do you ever listen to directions?”

“No.”

How he had gotten so powerful was a wonder to Hisoka. He was the stubbornest fuck on the planet with the worst case of selective hearing he had ever seen. Hisoka could not believe that at one point he had considered adding his father into his persona. If he was anything like his kid, he would have just been too much of a bother.

“You study all kinds of Nen, though,” Gon pointed out. “I would think you’d understand all of them very well.”

“Yes. But again. The twins were different.”

Gon studied him. He was such a strange little thing. Intelligent and an idiot all at the same time. Then again, weren’t all teenagers? Look at Nox. They were having the worst possible rebellious phase they could possibly come up with. Though, really, Hisoka wasn’t in a position to judge. He just wanted to prevent them from making his mistakes. Was he being a bad example again? Probably. Nox never seemed to be able to learn from his mistakes. Not like Nyx.

“Because you love them?”

Hisoka pursed his lips. Silence stretched out. He hid them from the world so often it was hard to admit. It wasn’t that he thought they were something to be ashamed of, his feelings were something to be ashamed of. It was just that admitting it, in his mind, put them in danger. But, then again, Gon could see it regardless of Hisoka’s answer. There was no hiding it from anyone in this damn manor.

“Yes.”

Gon was silent again. He was probably thinking of Ging, how Ging never really helped him with anything, whereas Hisoka, one of the worst people he had ever met, had helped the twins with everything. He could see their pelvises clearly now. He knew they had incurred some damage in their time, and he knew Hisoka had not abandoned them anyways. Hisoka could see those kinds of questions rolling through Gon’s brain, and he sympathized. He knew what that felt like.

He knew Ging loved Gon. He also knew what generational trauma could do to people. What trauma in general did to people. If he ever met the man, he was certain his theories would be proven correct. Ging had started young, much like Gon. He likely had an experience similar to Gon’s experience in NGL. Why people considered Gon some kind of war hero was beyond him. He was a victim of circumstance, and he was traumatized. Ky’ia, miraculously, had been the one to teach him how to  _ actually  _ heal. He doubted anyone had taught Ging how to do that.

The reason there were so many rules, he was certain, was because Ging was terrified of the power Gon had. Not physical power, or Nen, or anything like that. He wanted Gon to be strong because he was terrified of what would happen if Gon couldn’t defend himself and he couldn’t be there to save him. Ging was likely well acquainted with loss. But with every loss, you didn’t get used to it. It just made you realize more and more which losses you would not be able to bear.

Hisoka sympathized with him, but he didn’t condone his actions. While Hisoka was a terrible person, who had weaponized a set of children, those children were never really children. He had known, in his heart, that they would figure shit out on their own, and they would power towards vengeance anyways, and get killed. He had the ability to make it harder for them to die. And so he shared that ability. They had had the choice from the beginning: die trying to do it on their own, or let Hisoka help them, because laying down was never an option for them. He saw it in their eyes the moment he found them.

Gon had never really had a choice. Gon didn’t know that, but Hisoka did. Once you got going, there were no such things as brakes. He worshipped his dad, and Ging had the power the whole time to show up and make him stop. He hadn’t. He just left Gon to figure it out on his own, put the responsibility on him, made Gon think he had to be strong enough to win his approval when it was really Ging who should have been trying to win his.

Maybe Gon was figuring it out. Maybe he was in denial. Maybe he wouldn’t connect the dots for several years to come. Hisoka wasn’t going to push that process along. It had to come naturally.

“Do you think I’m weak?” Gon asked softly and the microwave went off. Hisoka let out a deep sigh and reached forward. The world moved in slow motion as his hand landed on Gon’s head, gentle, soft, not trying to scare, only comfort.

“I don’t think it should matter,” Hisoka replied. There. He was being kind. Nox would be proud.

Gon’s eyes started to well up with tears and Hisoka prepared himself for the waterworks. Gon powered towards him and wrapped his arms around Hisoka in a hug, burying his face in Hisoka’s shirt, and Hisoka resisted the urge to sigh. This was how he was going to be spending his afternoon, apparently. Comforting another man’s kid because Ging can’t be fucked to do it himself. Honestly, the amount of toxic masculinity …

Hisoka lifted his head to the ceiling and gingerly patted Gon on the head as the kid sobbed and sobbed into his shirt. He’d have to make some cocoa. Nox had threatened Kortopi with physical violence if he didn’t bring milk back from the store, so they now had oat, soy, and dairy because Kortopi could only understand about half of what they were signing, and Feitan was not very good at translating.

Nox cried a lot. They had come to an understanding eventually; when Nox cried, Hisoka made hot cocoa, or at least ignored Nyx making it with a splash of rum, and everyone calmed down. It was practically foolproof. Even teenagers all puffed up on their own encroaching adulthood ignored their own importance in favor of cocoa.

Gon was soaking his shirt now. Hisoka wondered how life had taken them down this route. He was entirely prepared to ignore Gon’s existence post NGL. After all, his presence tended to stress people out, and Gon did not need that. Now they were here. Gon crying in Chrollo Lucilfer’s kitchen and seeking comfort from Hisoka after Hisoka had literally kidnapped him.

Damn kid.

Long fingernails scratched at Gon’s scalp, soothing, calming, and Hisoka belatedly realized that without his mask he was someone people felt like they could find comfort in. How odd. Maybe he  _ was  _ a half decent older brother, over protective instincts and all.

Gon had grown a little over the past year. He was taller than the twins now, perhaps 5’3. Honestly, why was it always the short people that were a thorn in his side? Feitan, Chrollo, though Chrollo was perhaps more on the shorter side of average, Gon, Nox, Nyx. The only ones he  _ liked  _ most days were maybe Machi and Ky’ia.

It was good that he had grown. Stress could stunt your growth. Perhaps that was why Ging was so short. Or genetics.

Gon’s sobs started to slow. He was shaking. Hisoka vaguely wondered how long  _ that  _ took to build up. A few months at minimum. Ky’ia was doing a good job. They should really look into becoming a therapist if they didn’t run back to the mountain when all of this was done. They’d mentioned awhile ago that the deforestation at the base of their mountain was fucking with the tribe’s food supply. Hisoka would have to look into that. He could manage that at least as a thank you for making Gon more manageable. Couple of dead bodies should clear up that misunderstanding fairly quickly. Unless he just relegated it to the Hunter Association to do it the “right way” or whatever.

Hisoka felt the urge to sigh again. He needed to check on Nox, but he knew taking off after Gon had just bawled his eyes off would objectively not help the situation, given the extreme case of abandonment syndrome he had going on.

Gon quieted. He still had his face buried in Hisoka’s chest. That was enough of that. Hisoka pulled back, disentangling his fingers from Gon’s hair, and finally sighed.

“Go sit at the table,” he ordered and Gon miraculously complied. The take out was forgotten in favor of Hisoka pulling frozen peas out of the fridge, the milk for cocoa, frozen corn, ground beef, instant mashed potatoes because he was  _ not  _ going to mess around with that right now, and some cream of chicken. A good old fashioned (sort of) shepherd’s pie would fix him right up. It was one of those few semi soft meals the twins liked to have on special occasions. Salt, pepper, paprika, garlic powder, and an onion joined the array and Hisoka banged around in the cabinets to locate a casserole dish and large frying pan.

“Do you like shepherd’s pie?”

“Yes,” Gon croaked and Hisoka looked up to survey the mess. He was snot nosed, face all swollen, but the snot on Hisoka’s shirt barely perturbed him. He was used to it.

He pulled off a paper towel and handed it to him.

“Go wash your face and get back here,” Hisoka ordered and Gon blew his nose noisily before climbing to his feet and making for the door. Too tired to fight him, then. That was fine.

It was hard to remember how to act around a kid. Nox and Nyx seemed to grow up overnight. Hisoka felt like he had blinked and then they were adults. He still remembered them at thirteen, ecstatic at being able to walk after a year, dancing in the living room to that obnoxious opening theme song from that show. It felt like yesterday.

They were still kids in a way. But Gon wasn’t a kid in a way. The whole troupe saw him as grown, but they had a very different view on childhood than Hisoka. They had never really been seen as kids, by anyone. Hisoka and the twins had been seen as kids, but in a very twisted and perverted way. Gon, though?

He was a kid. Trauma made you grow up fast. It was inevitable. But he was still a kid, just with an old soul he hadn’t grown into yet. The troupe just saw the old soul, but Hisoka saw the mind of a kid who didn’t know how to fit into it. He set a saucepan full of oat milk on the stove and turned on the burner. Nyx would be pissed if he made cocoa and didn’t save any for them. And undoubtedly various troupe members would want some. Seven servings would do it.

A presence flickered into life behind the door and Hisoka sighed again. Of course Chrollo was playing stalker again. Were they going to have to have another deep heart to heart? Hisoka was  _ busy. _

Chrollo opened the door and sauntered in. Hisoka spared him the tiniest glance before he redirected his attention back to chopping onions.

“Before you start trying to get me to reexamine my entire existence, I would like you to know that I am clearly busy and would like to focus on Gon.”

“You’re good with kids,” Chrollo commented and slid to a halt next to Hisoka.

“Of course I am. Nox cries at least once a week.” Chrollo reached over Hisoka to grab the scraps from the onion and toss them into the compost bin.

“I haven’t seen them crying.”

“They’re still not completely comfortable. Of course they’re not crying.” Hisoka handled the knife expertly, cutting the onion down into tiny pieces. The pan was hot. He drizzled in vegetable oil and scraped the pieces into it. They sizzled as they hit down and he left them for the moment to start preheating the oven.

“He was quick to hug you.”

“I noticed,” Hisoka said dryly.

“The snot doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“Again. Nox cries at least once a week. They once had a breakdown over trigonometry.”

“I would, too.”

Hisoka pursed his lips to hold back a smile. It was a pointless effort. Chrollo would know he was smiling, anyways.

“Did you mean it?” Chrollo leaned on the counter and Hisoka moved to stir the onions. He just wanted them translucent.

“Open the ground beef, please.” They would get there fairly quickly. Garlic powder was sprinkled in so the flavor would infuse directly into the onions. Chrollo obediently cut open the tube. They were translucent now. Hisoka reached out his hand and Chrollo gave him the tube without a word. “And yes. I did. And it was what he needed to hear.”

“Why?” Hisoka belatedly realized Chrollo never really had parents. Of course, someone had to abandon him, even younger than Hisoka, but he didn’t have the memory of being with them to stress him out. He wouldn’t understand. Perhaps Hisoka could teach him something this time, but Gon was coming back.

As he squeezed out the beef the milk came to a boil and he turned it off. Chrollo helpfully poured in the cocoa mix and stirred it so Hisoka could focus on breaking up the meat. It felt almost domestic. How nice.

“Do you know why he asked?” Hisoka extended his En until he found Gon in the bathroom. Probably getting out the last of his tears before he came back, now that he remembered that he was fifteen and a grown man and therefore needed to be self conscious. Ridiculous.

“He cares about your opinion, I assume, or he’s comparing himself to the twins and thinks he’s not enough.” Chrollo replied. Cocoa always took so long to mix in.

“No. He wasn’t comparing himself to the twins. He cares about my opinion because he was comparing me to Ging.” The onions were smelling delicious, and now the scent of beef was making it intoxicating.

Chrollo was confused for just a moment.

“Why would he compare you to Ging?”

“He has Gyo now,” Hisoka supplied. “He can see the twins’ pelvises. And they likely told him at some point they were like that before I found them, which is partially true. I found them when it happened.”

“So?”

“So Ging sent him on this quest because he wanted Gon to be strong when he met him. Gon has likely interpreted that as him not being worthy of being Ging’s son when he’s weak, because Ging is too stupid and stubborn to admit the real problem.” He stopped pushing at the beef and let it sit and sizzle. He’d stir it in a moment. “Ging became a Hunter when he was as young as Gon. In this line of work, you will experience things similar to the NGL within a few years of joining. Perhaps not on the level of the Chimera Ants, but loss is loss. Gon thinks he can’t be loved if he isn’t strong, but the fact of the matter is Ging has likely experienced a lot of loss. He wanted Gon to be strong when he met him because he needed that reassurance that he  _ could  _ love him because Gon was strong enough to protect himself and he wouldn’t lose him.” Hisoka picked up the spatula and stirred again, flipping the browned bits and ignoring the oil popping onto his skin. “He stuck to his word when Gon found him, without Nen, which is commendable, but he ultimately put all of the responsibility on Gon and none on himself until that moment. He’s likely too afraid to admit the truth of the matter.”

Chrollo was silent. The troupe operated on their terms in love and life. Hisoka understood that. Sometimes he wondered if they had their rules so they could accept the death of each other better. Maybe Chrollo already understood this concept.

“All the power in the world can’t prepare you for the death of a child,” Hisoka added softly. Gon was still in the bathroom. Once he got this in the oven he’d go check on him.

“You understand people very well,” Chrollo finally said and Hisoka barely smiled.

“Someone has to.”

“Do you think Gon has figured it out yet?”

“Likely not. He may figure it out tomorrow, next week, next year. It takes time.”

“You were very kind. To say what you said.”

Hisoka knew. It was silly and out of character for him, but he  _ was  _ literally out of character in this manor. He might as well act like it.

“I said the truth, and it was what he needed to hear. He can stress about Ging all he wants, but at the end of the day, while he’s here, especially with learning Nen the way he’s learning it, he needs to have someone say it.” The meat was done. Hisoka turned off the burner and drained the oil before dumping in the vegetables and dumping the rest of it into the casserole dish. The cream of chicken was cracked open and poured on top. “Besides, as annoying as he is, he is charming.”

It was true. As aggravating as Gon could be, it had been that earnest nature and penchant for speaking out of turn that had endeared him to Hisoka. Gon and Killua were so like Nox and Nyx when they were young. Nox “yelling”, Nyx exasperated, following them along on their half cooked adventures. Hisoka had once found them missing and discovered them stuck on a cliff, tangled up in vines. He still hadn’t been able to figure out how that happened, but it had been Nox’s idea, and Nox that got initially stuck in the vines. Nyx had gotten tangled by trying to free them without dropping them.

He’d been so amused he couldn’t even be mad.

And then after they had to repaint the entire bungalow as punishment.

How their dynamic had changed so much, he didn’t know. He missed them, sometimes. They just grew up too fast.

“How did you know he needed to hear it?” Chrollo seemed to be fascinated with this whole thing. No, fascinated wasn’t the word. Confused. A little flustered, perhaps?

“I didn’t,” Hisoka replied flatly. “Sometimes you just don’t know. People are complicated. Teenagers are worse. But they know what the truth is, what it sounds like, and sometimes just hearing it is enough.”

Chrollo was staring at him. He was not staring at him the way he normally stared at him. There was some kind of uncertainty there. That was not a quality he associated with Chrollo, and Hisoka was seized by the urge to get out of this kitchen and Chrollo’s wavering, confused Nen.

“I’m going to check on Gon. Can you make the potatoes, pop this in the oven, and …” He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t trust Chrollo with them. “Check on Nox?”

“What’s wrong with Nox?” Ah. That’s right. No one had seen Hisoka carry them in, and Feitan had evidently not talked. Point for Feitan.

“They used a portion of their hatsu with a severe condition attached that forces them into a coma,” Hisoka explained. Chrollo almost looked shocked.

“You raised them and they made a condition like that?”

Hisoka could do without the judgement, thank you.

“They like to make things overly complicated. There’s fail safes. Too many fail safes, in my opinion. Just don’t show any bloodlust when you approach them, or…”

Hisoka cut himself off abruptly. Really, he trusted Chrollo  _ entirely  _ too much. Chrollo watched him with narrowed eyes.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll trigger a fail safe, and you do not want that fail safe.” With Chrollo’s aura, Ri just might take on Axis, or #42, June, at the bare minimum. The house could very well get leveled, and that was not something Hisoka was keen on dealing with. He had just started dinner.

“My base aura is bloodlust. Why don’t I go check on Gon?” Chrollo said flatly and Hisoka sighed as he mixed up the mess of meat and cream of chicken.

“He is a sobbing mess and has a hair trigger on a good day. Just think about me in your bed.” It slipped out. Hisoka hadn’t even been trying. It just came out.

Finally, finally, for the first time, color rose to his cheeks as he met Chrollo’s eyes. He felt like his own were about to pop out of their sockets. Chrollo stared back and his gaze drifted to Hisoka’s pink lips.

“I don’t think I need to think about you in my bed when you’ve been so kind as to provide such a lovely image in the meantime,” Chrollo purred, and Hisoka felt actual jealousy rise up. How rude of Chrollo to manage flirting without even trying, and do it better than Hisoka with a mask.

Chrollo reached up and a hand landed on Hisoka’s cheek. A thumb brushed over his cheekbone. For a second, it seemed like Chrollo was going to kiss him.

“Don’t you have a hysterical teenager to check on?” Chrollo asked softly and the rising panic died down in a second.

Hisoka didn’t run out the door.

He preferred to imagine it as a brisk powerwalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew okay this was a monster to write. I wanted to explore the option of Gon really coming to terms about his relationship with Ging and initiating some healing, which is why I introduced him in this fic. I wish we could see more of him. Please let me know if you liked it!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam if you want to see updates on my writing progress.


	45. The Crow and the Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox and Chrollo have a VERY long discussion.

Chrollo did as Hisoka asked. He kept his aura muted, soft, as soothing as he could. It felt uncomfortable, but whatever. What was even more uncomfortable was the growing aura pressing down the closer he got to the bedroom.

The door to the twins’ bedroom swung open and there was Nox, passed out completely on the bed, curled up on their side with their arm thrown out casually. He wasn’t sure why he needed to check on someone that was sleeping, or why he had to stick around, but a single run with Gyo revealed far more.

Their Nen wasn’t connected with Nyx, though Nyx was in the house. Normally, their connection could stretch out across the manor and surrounding grounds when pulled tight enough. He’d been watching, though he kept his interactions with them to a minimum to avoid upsetting Hisoka more than Feitan had already been upsetting him.

It was completely independent, and it looked wrong. Wrong in the aspect that he could see the aura emanating from their body, black and fragile, likely due to the state they were in, but there was a second ring that was not from them at all. It was red, the color of blood, mimicking the properties of blood as it dripped and then pulled back. The secondary ring was massive. It spilled across the entire bedroom, pushing through the walls and window, whereas the first ring only encompassed the bed. From the door, he could see it almost reached halfway across the yard. They’d only been back for less than an hour, but it was a miracle no one noticed.

He’d seen this before from other people. People that had been difficult to put down. It was stolen Nen.

So that was why they had the sleeping condition. They seemed capable of storing it, but using stolen Nen exacted a hefty price. And even if you didn’t, there was still a price, though significantly lesser. He knew this. That was why he had chosen to steal abilities, not Nen. It was also why he rarely ever stole abilities that relied on stolen Nen.

It was smart of Hisoka. This ability would make it more difficult to steal. Chrollo wasn’t certain that Hisoka knew of him when the twins formed their hatsus. It was likely. They were active at the age of fifteen. That was only three years ago. Hisoka had joined the troupe four years ago, and that was only because both Machi and Chrollo were on his radar.

So both their ability together and their abilities separately were not something Chrollo could steal. Hisoka had always planned to lure Machi in to meet them, and that put them at a risk of Chrollo learning of their existence. It was amazing how paranoid the man was. They had to be overpowered. Being Hisoka’s siblings, doing what they did, it was a necessity. That would always put them at a risk of Chrollo finding them fascinating enough to steal from. With the addition of stealing Nen, however, the chances of him stealing were drastically reduced.

Paranoid.

He could appreciate it, because Hisoka was right. Looking at how much Nen had been stolen, he knew that whatever ability this was, he didn’t want it. He didn’t even know what it was, but he didn’t want it. Even with a fail safe Hisoka had considered nasty enough to warn him off of. Stealing this much Nen from a bloodbath was just not something he wanted to fuck around with.

They were likely going to be sick when they woke up. They had killed about one hundred men, according to Feitan. And judging from the aura, they had taken Nen from every single one. It was impressive that they had managed to kill as many people as him. Either Feitan had been fucking around and decided watching them was more important, or they were performing somewhere close to his level. He was willing to put money on the first option, as Feitan was an awful liar with Chrollo, and he had claimed he hadn’t seen their hatsu. And then to drive the point home, he had gone and started his laundry. His laundry with Nox’s bloodied clothes.

Even so. Killing one hundred people and stealing Nen from every last one and evidently using quite a lot of it was going to make them sick. At one time, Chrollo had been on decent terms with a Nen thief, and he was fairly aware of how this went. The first condition worked its way off, and then if they had stolen from enough people and used it, they got sick, and then they were fine. The amount of Nen stolen didn’t particularly matter, but the amount of people did. Most skilled Nen thieves were good enough to not get sick until about seventy five people, but after that? Headaches, fevers on occasion, vomiting. And Phinks had informed him in a state of irritation that vomiting was apparently a choking hazard. After he informed him that he needed to “chill” with Hisoka, because Hisoka apparently took out his frustrations by being aggravatingly overprotective of the twins.

Chrollo checked his phone. It was a day’s drive from Gorten to the manor. He didn’t know how long this coma would last, or if they would wake up and go back to sleep. They were twitching now, so it had lasted long enough that the pain was likely going to wake them up. Chrollo was incredibly good with En. He had spent many a night feeling the agony bleeding off of the twins as they tried to sleep. It was a wonder they could sleep at all. The dark circles were a permanent fixture.

He hoped, at least for Hisoka’s sake, that Machi would figure it out.

Actually, now that he thought about it, the condition made sense. A Nen condition like that could effectively knock someone out in a way that sedatives would never manage. Looking at them now, he realized their dark circles were significantly lighter.

He wondered if Nyx’s condition worked in the same way. It didn’t seem like it. He knew they had taken care of a “problem”. But with no knowledge of what their aura looked like separately except when they came in the door, he had no idea what their condition was like. Nen stealing generally worked on a principle of sacrifice, and it was less a hatsu and more of a technique. Ky’ia could do it naturally, with no negative effects, but Ky’ia was a Specialist. Specialists could shuffle around natural conditions. That’s what made them Specialists in part. Chrollo’s ability, for example. Nen could be stolen, but not abilities, really. Not naturally. That’s why there were more Nen thieves than ability thieves, because, again, ability versus technique. Most ability thieves could only use the ability once. Chrollo could ignore that natural condition and use his stolen abilities as many times as he wanted, with certain conditions, such as holding open his book when he didn’t use the bookmark. Ky’ia had incorporated Nen stealing into their Neverland; they could steal Nen without any negative effects within Neverland. They hadn’t really tried it outside of Neverland, and didn’t seem to want to.

The twins, however, were not Specialists when they were separate. Hence the comatose young adult in front of him who was starting to stir.

Chrollo stared down at them. Had he not known better, he would have sworn they were biologically related to Hisoka. They had those same kind of elfish features that had initially gotten Chrollo’s attention. Perhaps it was simply because they were around him so much. They had picked up the same deliberate body language, same way of talking in a way. The way they signed … He was picking up sign very quickly. The way they signed had this sort of teasing, showy lilt to it when they were in a good mood. It was kind of amazing, really, how things transferred over.

They also shared his same mischievous grin and that dangerous glint in their eyes when they were about to pull some shit they knew would piss someone off.

Hisoka had done a good job, all things considered. Sure, they were all rather fucked up, and Chrollo was not exactly the best person to decide on what constituted a “good kid”, but they had that quality to them that made everyone like them naturally, as mean and rude as Nox was, and as distant and judgemental as Nyx was. Phinks was enamored with both of them. Shalnark even liked Nyx, and Shalnark, as polite as he was, didn’t like anyone. Granted, he actually had someone around nowadays that understood his computer talk, so that was a factor in Nyx’s favor, but still.

They had all been shocked when the twins barged in. No one could understand what they were seeing when they circled around Hisoka like a pair of anxious sharks, tugging and yanking and inspecting him for injuries. They were all collectively baffled that anyone could like Hisoka so much, worry about him so much, and were even more baffled when it became clear that Hisoka actively had two disabled siblings he seemed to love dearly. Everyone could tell the second he started speaking to them. Why he even tried to play it off nonchalantly was beyond all of them.

It was odd, to say the least, to have such a strangely mismatched family in his home with his own family. It seemed to be affecting everyone as they grew to appreciate Hisoka and like the twins. The Morrows were very much _ not _Spiders. That was beyond clear. They were the Morrows. But the more time everyone spent together, the more the Spiders were coming to understand that they could have empathy for someone outside of their collective tight knit circle.

They were almost a puzzle piece Chrollo didn’t know was missing.

He wasn’t sure what Hisoka was doing to his troupe, but he had put himself in for the long haul and was ready to roll with it.

Nox twitched again and awoke with a gasp and a groan. Chrollo’s Gyo activated on instinct, and for a moment he confused himself as to why until he realized he had subconsciously known that Nox would be disoriented enough that they couldn’t set up their pelvis.

Nox looked at him with wild, confused eyes and then those eyes went down as their chest heaved up and down. Chrollo decided that no, he was not going to explain why he was in their room watching them sleep, and simply reached down to haul them up and rush them into the bathroom.

Nox shuddered and resisted the urge to cry from the pain out of fear of vomiting all over him, and he set them down only for them to slowly slide down. Oh. Right. They couldn’t brace their legs very well. Tendrils were trying to come together and failing and he reached out to haul them up, but they batted his hand away and hefted themselves up with pure upper body strength to vomit into the toilet.

Chrollo winced and looked away as they heaved pitifully into the bowl. Had they tied their hair back or had Hisoka? Probably Hisoka.

The retching continued for several moments as their arms trembled from the strain on their likely aching body. They had overdone it. Why anyone would just decide on such a hatsu, he could never understand, paranoid Hisoka or not. Granted, so long as they didn’t _ use _the stolen Nen, it was probably not a problem, but they clearly had, and used a lot of it.

“You’re being stubborn,” Chrollo finally said. “Let me hold you up.”

Nox shook their head no and started retching again. They were dry heaving now. They definitely felt like shit. Watching with Gyo, he could see that they still could not get their pelvis together. Nyx was likely aching by now.

“If I hold you up, Nyx won’t be in as much pain.” He needed to go in at another angle. Nox kept heaving. They were definitely going to need some Pedialyte.

There was a long pause, and then they nodded. The floor was putting too much pressure on their pelvis, and they couldn’t lift themselves enough to get off of it. Chrollo sat behind them and lifted them up and they managed a little spit up. How Hisoka had managed this so long, he had no idea. Teenagers were significantly more obnoxious now that Chrollo wasn’t one.

“You used too much stolen Nen,” Chrollo muttered. Nox seemed like the type to consistently overdo it. Someone in that family had to, he supposed.

Nox stiffened in his grasp. They were so light. Chrollo wondered, briefly, if they were getting enough nutrients in their diet. Probably, knowing Hisoka. Even so, for all their tight muscle, they were significantly lighter than Feitan, and they were taller than him. He was fairly sure they were taller than him, at least. It was hard to tell.

“Feitan didn’t tell me,” he reassured them. “He’s a terrible liar, though. Insisted he didn’t see it and then went to do your laundry. I can tell from your aura. I’m not a complete idiot.”

Nox’s hands moved, constricted by the toilet, and Chrollo could only catch “more” and “Hisoka”. He was not far enough along to catch the rest.

“I don’t know what you just said.” Nox sighed and then patted his hand. This was among the top ten awkwardest positions Chrollo had ever been in.

“_ I done. Bed. _”

Chrollo stood and lifted Nox easily to carry them back into the bed. Their aura was all over the place. It was understandable why they couldn’t hold their pelvis together. It likely took a lot of concentration and pain to set up, perhaps minor subconscious concentration to maintain, and they were exhausted.

Nox let out a tiny whimper of pain and reached for their phone to text Nyx. Chrollo understood. They needed their oxycodone. There was no water in the bedroom. He’d have to go downstairs and get some Pedialyte and figure out what Feitan had done with their bag.

Nox reached out weakly and grabbed his sleeve. He paused and looked down. Exhausted like this, worn out, sick, they looked so young. It was strange to see. They normally seemed so much older.

“_ Hisoka where? _”

Chrollo’s mind buzzed to flip the grammar around. Where’s Hisoka?

“Gon had a meltdown and he’s doing damage control with shepherd’s pie.”

Nox let out a long breath and then smiled. It was a tight, pained smile, but he knew exactly what they were thinking. It was about time. He needed to find their meds. Pulling out his phone, he shot Feitan a text to bring up their bag and some Pedialyte, rather than go hunting, and he redirected his attention back down to them.

“I asked Feitan to bring up your bag and some Pedialyte. Do you need anything else?”

“_ Orange. _”

“What?”

“_ Orange p-e-d-i-a-l-y-t-e. _” The fingerspelling was hard to follow. Even exhausted, they were fast, but he got the jist, and sent Feitan a correction.

**They specifically want orange.**

“Do you want me to stay up here?”

Nox nodded and Chrollo pulled up the chair. Hisoka was the one that told him to come up here, so he figured he could talk rather easily with Nox without him getting too worked up. Nox’s hand reached out and pulled open the nightstand drawer. It was full of small notebooks. It was strange, to consistently see evidence of how differently they lived their life. They didn’t seem to be ashamed to be in such a mess in front of him. It was just a fact of their existence.

Nox scrawled on the paper and held out the notebook.

**Did Hisoka tell you to come up?**

“Yes. He thought Gon was too touchy for me to handle.”

**Meaning he thinks you have zero emotional intelligence. **Zero was underlined rather viciously. How rude.

Chrollo thought back to Hisoka’s assessment of Gon and Ging’s relationship. Being Chrollo, he had never put much thought into it beyond a bare surface level thought. It hadn’t been important enough to think about, but with Gon, a rather powerful Enhancer with a very powerful lineage having meltdowns in his house, he probably needed to reapproach that assessment.

“He’s likely right.”

**Of course he’s right. He may be an idiot, but he’s good at reading people when it doesn’t come to him.**

“Why did you pick such a high condition?” Chrollo asked. He was not going to let them lead the conversation _ there. _Sneaky little Hisoka spawn.

Nox raised their eyebrows.

**Well, for one, I only use the stolen Nen when I absolutely have to, more or less, well, I mean I probably use it when I don’t need it, but anyways. For two, I don’t intend on killing hundreds of people at once for the rest of my life. When I’m done it won’t even really be a problem.**

“You only killed one hundred,” Chrollo corrected and Nox shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t tell if it was from emotional discomfort or physical. They were breathing _ very _evenly.

**Jun. One year ago.**

Chrollo’s brain whirred for a moment as he tried to place the name. One year ago, he was without Nen, and fairly removed from current events, but …

“That was you?” He placed it. It had been a private, invite only festival, with four hundred attendees. He briefly recalled that it had been a sex festival of sorts. It was included in the Morrows’ research. There had been around one hundred members of the ring in attendance.

The public had thought it was a bomber, but on classified paper there had been no origin to the bomb. It had simply been set on fire afterwards.

Nox sighed and rolled slightly with a hiss so they could look at the ceiling. He could see it all over them. Regret. Pain, physical and emotional. As far as reports went, everyone had died in the span of five minutes, with the exception of about seven Nen users who had put up a fight. The most powerful one had died about thirty minutes in.

It was thought to be a bomb because the convention center had simply exploded, but the fire had been deliberately started about thirty minutes later. The bodies had holes ripped through their torsos, been torn to shreds, had their skin peeled off. There was no video footage of what happened. All the CCTV in the area had been turned off.

They never caught the perpetrator.

The story had interested Chrollo. Every Nen user knew it had been one of them, and the fact that there was an unknown user that had that level of sheer power had left a lot of people nervous. For awhile, the troupe had been blamed. If Chrollo had a dollar for every time the troupe was blamed for shit they didn’t do, he’d never have to steal a single thing again. At the time, however, he had considered the possibility of the troupe being blamed for it, because he wanted to recruit whoever had done it.

Wild how the very person who had done it had been living in his actual house for the past several weeks and he had no idea.

“Why are you telling me this?” Chrollo asked bluntly. Nox kept staring at the ceiling before they started writing.

**It wasn’t supposed to go like that. Everything went wrong when one of the members tried to fight me in front of everyone, and I was having a pretty bad day already being in such a … familiar environment.**

Triggering, they meant. Chrollo waited for them to finish. Nox gripped the pen more tightly.

**Hisoka feels like it was his fault. Nyx pities me bc it could have just as easily been them losing their shit like I did. It brings up a lot of ugly feelings, so we don’t talk about it. Fact is, I regret it bc it wasn’t SUPPOSED to go like that. But if it was … If we planned for bystanders seeing the mess, if we were willing to kill everyone, I wouldn’t feel as bad. I wouldn’t regret anything. So I don’t regret them dying. I regret upsetting Hisoka like I did. I regret losing it bc I shouldn’t have lost it. I regret the fact that I liked it, from what I can… what I can remember. It was a blackout. And after last night … Idk. Brings up memories I think I deliberately forgot. I never talked about it, but I feel like you of all people would get it. As emotionally stupid as you are.**

Chrollo had a lot of things to think about with that confession. After six years of this, technically three, it was understandable that there were a lot of civilian casualties. He was starting to understand Hisoka’s complex more. If he didn’t talk about Jun, it was likely he was pretending it never happened. He understood the twins on a very deep and complex level. So it was entirely possible that he _ knew _Nox had liked releasing on that level. Chrollo knew what that kind of power did to you. It was intoxicating. It was addictive, the ability to just surpass any concept of human limitation and destroy anything and everything.

There was no mention of the twins, and he assumed both of them were there, being at Jun in their carefully catalogued evidence. Perhaps because of the memories, perhaps because they intended dropping all of the info one day. In fact, if he recalled, their research pointed to them being on the other side of the country, with evidence to back it up.

But the other thing he had to consider was that he had someone in his manor that was capable of killing 400 people in less than thirty minutes, and the majority of those people killed were, admittedly, non users, but had still been killed in five minutes. That didn’t just require strength. That required speed, unbelievable speed. And then, as the cherry on top, they had leveled an entire convention center. And he had no idea what their hatsu was. Granted, emotions fueled Nen. And putting a seventeen year old CSA victim in a sex festival, complete with at least one hundred pedophiles fucking among the actual decent people just trying to have fun, was going to result in some ugly emotions. He doubted the troupe could summon such an emotional response with anything short of a shrine to Uvogin. Or, perhaps, killing Hisoka, but like hell anyone was even going to consider doing that.

So perhaps he shouldn’t worry so much. Performing on a base level, they were capable of taking out one hundred men in an hour or so. Jewel was there, and he had studied her enough before Feitan had taken off with Nox to know that Nox likely expended so much stolen Nen fighting her. She was powerful as a Manipulator, and without knowledge of how Nox fought, he had to assume they engaged in physical combat to get rid of her. One simply could not go off of an extremely triggering scenario to judge a person’s Nen capabilities. They were one off chances that would only happen in very specific circumstances, and could rarely be repeated. You had to go off a controlled situation.

It was surprising that Hisoka had made a mistake like that. Did he overestimate them?

“Why didn’t you tell Feitan this?” Chrollo suddenly asked as the thought occurred to him. It was odd they chose to confide in him and not the man they’d been sharing a bed with. Nox sighed softly and turned back onto their side in a wince. The even breathing continued.

**Because I kinda like him and don’t want to rush the whole intimacy thing.**

Oh, right. He forgot. The whole family was ridiculous about romance. Nyx moved too fast, Nox moved at a glacial pace in all the wrong ways and ran like a cheetah in all the right places, and Hisoka was effectively like talking to a wall. There was literally no sense to any of it.

“You have shared a bed with him twice now.”

**Are all the Spiders stalkers or just you?**

“Feitan used to wait outside of your room to smell your hair after you washed it, so I would say it seems to be all of us.”

Nox grinned. Finally. Now only to get Nyx to smile. That may take a few years. The grin rapidly dissolved into a harsh cough, but, hey, progress.

**There’s a difference in physical intimacy and actually having to talk to someone about your feelings.**

Oh, Nen, what he wouldn’t give for Hisoka to do literally either of those things.

“So did you tell me that to ask for advice or just to say it?” Chrollo asked bluntly. Nox looked down at the pad, reading over what they wrote with pursed lips.

**I don’t know.**

Chrollo felt something akin to sympathy for Nox. When he slaughtered the Kurta, he never had a single second thought. It had felt good. But he hadn’t been surrounded by people he felt he needed to be good for. And the Kurta massacre had not been an accident. It had been a deliberate choice, planned out and executed. It had not been done in a fit of emotion. There had been no meltdowns, no staring at the results of a blackout in the aftermath. None of that had happened. He had just done what he did, and there was no section in his mind that allowed anything even remotely close to regret.

Nox had that section. At a time, Chrollo would have sneered at it, but having a cause, choosing to join a cause, had done some strange things to him. He wanted to understand Hisoka, and to do that, he needed to understand where he came from. That was, in part, his cause. Understanding the people that turned their weakness into their power.

“I used to believe that being able to regret was something to sneer at,” Chrollo said quietly. Nox looked up and their brows furrowed. He just continued. “That has changed significantly in this past month. Hisoka can do a lot of things that I can’t, and I find it to be something fascinating. Beautiful, perhaps. I’ve never met someone before that can take what makes them weak and turn it into what makes it strong like he does. Because, objectively, trauma does make you weak. Prone to outbursts. It can shut your brain down, render you irritable and depressed for weeks after the fact, even if the trauma happened years ago. Hisoka, you, Nyx, you’ve all taken that trauma and weaponized it. The reason you have been so driven for so many years is because of it. It’s what makes you focused. I’m not certain you would be even half as powerful if you didn’t have it. Most Nen users I have seen with their hatsus reliant on their trauma, or even formed in their trauma, like Hisoka, just cannot maintain consistent control. I found them weak for it. But you … You just told me being triggered enabled you to perform a massacre ten times as excessive as York New auction. And now I seem to be unable to find them weak for it.”

Chrollo was unsure of why he was admitting this.

_ “I don’t think it should matter.” _

“Ultimately, the three of you, Hisoka most specifically, have redefined strength enough for me that I have been forced into questioning my entire outlook on it. Gon just asked Hisoka if he thought he was weak. You know what Hisoka said? He told him it didn’t matter if he was weak or not. I’m almost surprised at myself. Your confession left me wondering if I should ask you what your hatsu is. But I think … I can trust you. And Hisoka. And Nyx. And it’s rather odd, because I have very little reason to. But … You understand power. That’s why you liked it. That heady rush, how godlike you feel when people die all around you, that realization that you can do _ anything _, and not a single soul can do a damn thing about it. When you did what you did in Jun, you were faced with a choice, even if you didn’t know it. You had the choice to follow where that rush was going to take you, to go become a god, to answer to no one, to never hurt, or cry, ever again, to have that power all of the time. Because you knew, you knew the moment you did it, that you could easily access it. When you unlock that kind of power, it’s there, it will always be there, so long as you find something to feed it. But if you turn your back on it, choose to walk away, you know it will likely never become something you can touch again without the circumstances that pushed you there. And you chose the more powerful option. You chose to stay home, with Nyx and Hisoka, to see your mission to the end, to not abandon them. The reason it was the more powerful option was because as much as you try to deny it, lie to yourself over the years, tell yourself you have complete control, it has control over you. You can’t stop once you start. You convince yourself you’re giving it all up because attachments are unnecessary, make you weak, make you vulnerable, but it is far more powerful to spit in the face of everyone who would try to take everything from you and tell them no. To choose to live in fear of loss is a powerful choice. It’s far more cowardly to run from that fear than to stand up and face it. I can tell you right now Hisoka had the option and refused it many times. Jewel, the woman you killed, had the option and took it, which is ultimately why she died. And I’m telling you this because I took that option, and only now, a decade later, am I starting to understand what regret is. Because while I was off stealing and murdering and killing, Hisoka was walking a path right beside me, becoming a monster just like me, but a benevolent one, with a cause, with a purpose, while my purpose was ultimately to function as the villain in someone else’s story.”

There was a sniffle from the bed. Nox was crying. Chrollo stood and got the box of Kleenex on the dresser and handed it to them.

He kind of wanted to cry, too. He didn’t know why he said it.

Hisoka had said they weren’t comfortable yet. Apparently they were now. All it took was a declaration of love for Hisoka, apparently. Well. A pseudo declaration. Chrollo wasn’t sure why he had just said literally any of it. He hadn’t even been mulling it over the past few days. It seemed to just … come out.

Hisoka comforting Gon had spurned it. Chrollo had caught the thought he’d been chasing, and it had been too big of a thought to keep in his chest. Every word of what he just said was true. He knew now exactly what drew him to Hisoka, what left him enamored and desperately trying to catch him and hold him.

It was the fact that they both came from horrible places, horrible upbringings, with trauma piled on top of trauma, and Hisoka had come out of it with more strength than Chrollo possessed. It was the fact that Hisoka said _ no _ while Chrollo had just opened his arms and demanded more, more, more. He wanted it all. And he took it all. Hisoka simply hadn’t. Hisoka had been the man Chrollo had wondered at being, on lonely nights as he stared up at the stars. Because the ultimate price of demanding more, more, more was that you could never _ have _. And Hisoka had gained everything in spite of it. A family, a cause, a purpose, a resolve Chrollo could never begin to understand.

He wanted Hisoka because Chrollo was a coward, and Hisoka inspired him to be brave.

But now he understood. He could not have him unless he released him. Unless he told the universe that yes, he would let go, he would let him free, and trust the winds to carry him back.

If he wanted to have Hisoka, he had to embrace the fear Hisoka lived with every day. He had to be brave.

Not that he could ever hold him anyways. He had already accepted that. He would let him know that he was loved, yes, loved, but he would not use that to hold him down. If Hisoka wanted to be loved by him, he would come back. If he didn’t, Chrollo would take that as the final punishment no man could deal to him and accept it.

Nox was still crying. Chrollo sat down, unsure of what to do. Hisoka was better at this. He seemed to have a system down. Hot cocoa, a warm serving of shepherd’s pie if they could eat, a quiet acceptance of someone’s pain. It was no wonder Gon had rushed to him. Despite their animosity, Hisoka had a certain quality. A big brother quality.

Chrollo did not have a big brother quality.

So he just waited awkwardly while they wiped their eyes and blew their nose. He could see it again. How much of a kid they were. Shalnark and Feitan were showing that less and less nowadays, but he could catch it, when Feitan was tired and grumbly and shuffling around in a blanket, or when Shalnark lost it when a new set for that card game he liked was announced.

Nox was exhausted. He handed them another tissue and they blew their nose a second time. They probably needed to do that anyways. There were chunks in the first blow. He didn’t even know that was possible with a liquid diet.

“Hisoka said you cried a lot.”

Nox frowned through the tears and grabbed the pad.

**Hisoka is a fuck.**

Chrollo let his eyebrows raise slightly. The sniffles died down and they dropped their head back on the pillow. They looked so tired.

**You should just tell him you love him.**

“If I did that, I doubt I would ever see the three of you again.”

**I think he likes you.**

“He does. He is just a bit skittish. I can be patient.”

**You aren’t providing me good soap opera material.**

“Tragic. Why don’t you get it from Feitan?” Speaking of Feitan, he was taking a while.

**I don’t think anyone would want to watch a soap opera about two short ass punks who go on murder sprees for weekend getaways. Ky’ia and Nyx are too not complicated. Nyx makes everything simple. Boring script material.**

“I don’t know, they’ve seemed pretty complicated since they got back.” Despite the bad attitude, talking with Nox was refreshingly easy. Easier than talking to Hisoka, at least. Talking to Nyx was the verbal equivalent of banging your head against a brick wall.

**Yes, I know. They have been texting me in a panic for hours.**

“Did they not know you were sleeping?”

**They did. Sometimes they just need to get their thoughts out and they hate talking to other human beings or people even breathing in their space. I don’t know why they’re so worried. It’s not like Ky’ia hasn’t seen people die before.**

“There is likely a difference in seeing someone dying and being an active accessory to murder.”

**Still. They aren’t even mad at Nyx. They just don’t want to do it themselves. Like. It’s fine. Nyx says I make shit complicated but they are way worse.**

“I don’t think you make things complicated.”

Nox snorted and blew their nose a third time. It should clear up now.

**If you knew our hatsus, you would rescind that statement. I have about … Uh … ** Nox trailed off and rolled their eyes to the ceiling to count. **Technically five conditions, I think. It’s murky. Maybe six, depending on how you look at it. They have like one.**

“I feel like Hisoka was not involved in the creations of these hatsus.” There was no way Hisoka was involved in this. Five conditions? That was too much, even for a Conjurer. On principle, Chrollo was almost offended. Their hatsu better be something special to justify that monstrosity.

**No, he wasn’t, except for the condition that we steal Nen. So you don’t want to steal ours. I just made extra sure you wouldn’t want to steal mine. … Also so we have that Gemini power boost.**

So his assessment was right. Hisoka was entirely too paranoid. And Nox was entirely too inclined to going overboard. And the Gemini sacrificial element was too good to pass up.

“Well, that would be effective. I have no interest in an ability with conditions the creator isn’t even certain of. How long does that take to explain?”

**About ten minutes.**

Absolutely not. Hisoka should be ashamed.

“And Nyx didn’t make theirs complicated why?”

**They did. Just different than mine. I assume you wouldn’t want to do physics equations in your head in the middle of a fight.**

“The more important question here is why would they?”

**They’re pretentious.**

It was almost hilarious how similar they were to Hisoka in the worst possible ways. He didn’t know what their hatsus were, but he could still completely imagine Hisoka doing the same exact nonsense. Actually, he did. Nine times out of ten you had to figure out the circumference of a circle to effectively battle him. Irritating.

Five conditions. Ridiculous. Even if it had the power to kill four hundred people in under thirty minutes, it was absolutely not worth it.

And _ physics equations? _What was Nyx trying to do, crash them into another planet?

Chrollo was a bit of a snob about Nen abilities. He couldn’t help it. His hatsu was literally stealing them. Not much could pull an emotional reaction out of him, but when it came to hatsus, he would absolutely have a visceral response to bad ones. While he couldn’t say if these hatsus were bad or not, as he had no idea what they were, the very thought of these ridiculous conditions was painful.

Nox was starting to settle. They were awake enough to lace their pelvis back together, and the tight pinched pained face was beginning to fall back into natural comfort.

**Of course, ** they added and Chrollo imagined himself banging his head into a wall, **that doesn’t count the secondary hatsus. So I guess two for Nyx and six for me. Or seven.**

“Right, of course,” Chrollo said flatly. “Six or possibly seven conditions is perfectly normal.”

Nox grinned up at him.

**Hisoka said you were a hatsu snob. You should loosen up.**

“You accuse my troupe of being stalkers, but your brother is objectively worse. He made you plan your hatsus around me.”

**Mmm not just you.**

“Then who else?”

Nox paused for a moment. They almost looked worried.

**We don’t talk about that.**

“You just talked about Jun.”

**That wasn’t Hisoka specific. If you let him go to the gala I’m sure you’ll find out.**

“Why would I let him go to the gala?” Nox narrowed their eyes at him. That was probably bad phrasing.

**Because you’ve grounded him like he isn’t a whole 26 years old and he’s literally about to crawl out of his skin from the stress of being stuck at the manor.**

“He can go anywhere else. Just not on missions.” Chrollo had just gotten them to trust him, but now he was fumbling the ball.

**You’re being stupid. Actually. You’re being a jackass. We’re this close to completion, and you’re taking away his final days on this mission that has been ours from the start. I get that you care about him or whatever. But your month of carefully observing him doesn’t trump our six years of being raised by him. You need to chill.**

“He’s breaking,” Chrollo stated. “You can see that.” They all could see it. It was there, imperceptible, but it was happening.

**He’s always breaking. Always has been, always will be. You’re just making it worse. He needs to be working. It’s what keeps him sane. If he’s not working, he feels like he isn’t doing anything, and when we aren’t doing anything we feel like we’re failing.**

“He is working. He’s directing.” Chrollo was grasping at straws here. Try as he might, when it came to possessive tendencies, he couldn’t fully turn off his caveman brain. The sacrifice of being a polymath. You had to be positively primitive about _ something. _

**That isn’t enough, because Nyx can do it just as well. He needs to do what we can’t. **Nox looked a little sad at the confession, and Chrollo finally figured out what he was missing. A surprised jerk, a widening of his eyes, and Nox knew that he knew.

Hisoka had found them mere hours after everything happened. After they had their tongues cut out, after they had their pelvises crushed. The reason they never talked about that night was because Hisoka felt guilty. Even if he hadn’t known them in those few hours, even if he hadn’t cared about them in those few hours, he had been a few hours late to save the two people he loved more than anything in the world. And so the twins had never told him what happened. Not because of their own trauma, but because of his. Because while bad things happening to you is traumatizing, bad things happening to loved ones was even worse. Hisoka wasn’t just traumatized from his childhood. He was traumatized from theirs. He probably didn’t even realize.

After this, he would have his own burdens to bear, his own traumas to carry. But the twins carried those traumas all over their body, silently, without complaint. Chrollo, belatedly, realized that they must be in culture shock in this house. Constantly having to write, unable to speak their own language. Perhaps that was why Nox tolerated Feitan at first, because Feitan had gone through the same.

Hisoka put himself on the frontlines because of that guilt, that trauma. He was trying to make up for it.

“Why do you let him?” He asked softly and Nox’s eyes started to well up with tears.

**We didn’t have a choice.**

That was the crux of it. Hisoka was able to do it. The twins simply couldn’t. They didn’t have an “in” like Hisoka did, whoever that “in” was. They were supposed to be dead, and the language barrier alone would make things difficult. The pelvises would provide an additional barrier. Hisoka had probably been attacked in the night plenty, and from what he’d witnessed, it took several minutes to set up their pelvises for the day. In addition, it was highly likely Hisoka had to have sex for this mission. That alone twisted Chrollo’s gut, but they just couldn’t do that. Or, well, they could, but at what cost? The sharing pain alone would make things traumatizing, and they couldn’t afford more damage.

“You have a choice now,” he said quietly. Nox kept crying as they scribbled on the paper.

**He doesn’t. He doesn’t know any other way to function.**

“I’m sorry.” He meant it. He really did. He had previously known they were in an impossible situation, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad. The twins didn’t even seem to mind their disabilities, but he now understood; they did mind them, because they had to let Hisoka do what he does as a result of them. It was hard to grasp that two people as powerful as the twins had so many limitations. They carried on, pretending to not care, pretending to be unfazed, to protect Hisoka. He wasn’t used to being around so many limitations, so much that he had stupidly overlooked them.

So now he had to undo his previous assessment that Hisoka had never been protected before. He was protected, and fiercely. It was hard to understand love like that. Chrollo was learning a lot about love. He should have spoken to Nox sooner.

It occurred to him, rather belatedly. With Conjuration, very often the more conditions you had, the more power you could access. The more limitations, the more you became limitless. It often reflected in the people. Conjurers tended to be complex people, with a lot of secrets, and a lot of contradictory qualities.

“Nox,” he said softly and Nox rubbed at their eyes with the back of their hand. They were puffy and red now. He handed them another tissue and waited for them to blow their nose before he continued. “Do you have so many conditions to make it complicated, or to make it more limitless?”

Nox shifted so they were sitting up and Chrollo reached out in fear of them falling over. They steadied themselves and looked down at the pad. They were sad, unbearably sad.

**Promise you won’t tell Hisoka.**

“I promise.” He meant it. He wasn’t going to tell Hisoka any of this. Hearing it from him would be more of a knife in his chest than hearing it from the twins.

Nox lifted their hand, gently, delicately, and waited. Chrollo felt their Nen swell powerfully as they took a deep breath in, and as they breathed out a single bird materialized on their hand. A crow.

At first, Chrollo was confused. That much Nen shouldn’t have been needed for a small bird.

But then, the crow tilted its head, and Chrollo found himself captivated by its eyes. Most conjured animals had flat, dull eyes. Matte, almost. This one, though? His, Chrollo somehow knew it was male, eyes gleamed with intelligence and mischief.

He was sentient.

The crow hopped onto the headboard and Nox picked up their notepad.

**You see?**

“He’s sentient,” Chrollo breathed out. He never knew of any Conjurer that chose to make their animals sentient. There was no point. They would either die, or leave and objectively die anyways.

**This is Ri. He’s my number one. He has a regeneration period of one hour. The rest of them have 12 hours.**

Chrollo frowned at the notepad shoved at him. But …

They were lonely.

He wasn’t going to shame them with the observation.

“Why sentient? And why do you bring them back?”

**Would you rather go to battle with real soldiers, or zombie soldiers?**

He could see how sentience would give them an edge. They wouldn’t have to direct them, or pre program them. If a circumstance arose they had never seen before, they could react based on their intelligence level, which he assumed was fairly high, considering they chose one of the most intelligent birds. And forming sentience would take an excessive amount of time. There had to be personality to factor in, giving them room for growth, intelligence, the ability to learn. It wasn’t like snapping your fingers and summoning up a bag of flesh and feathers. There had to be thought and care put into it. So regeneration made sense.

His initial thought still stood. He hadn’t previously considered it. The twins seemed to suffer in silence on every level, it seemed. Nox had a lot of thoughts they couldn’t share. There were so many things that went unsaid, despite their love for each other, or perhaps because of their love for each other.

Nox had to be suffering.

The Jun massacre made even more sense. Giving them sentience allowed them to react not only to Nox’s thoughts like an ordinary conjured bird, but to their subconscious thoughts, and their emotions. That was the problem with sentience. They could act independently of Nox, out of a sense of protective rage, and even draw on Nox’s Nen without Nox giving it to them to power themselves up. There wasn’t as much control, and for some reason, he could understand why Nox would prefer that. It wasn’t his cup of tea, but it made sense for Nox.

“So there are multiples?” This was fascinating. He wanted to know how it worked. Though he would never admit to it, he was a bit of a Nen nerd. And the fact that Nox was trusting him, and by proxy the troupe, was a very good sign. If he could get the twins on board with him, he could win Hisoka over much more quickly.

Nox narrowed their eyes at him and Ri let out a soft caw, fluffing up his feathers threateningly. Fascinating. He seemed so lifelike. Chrollo wondered if he felt lifelike, too.

“I have a confession,” he finally stated and summoned his book. Nox didn’t move, but they tensed. A wild animal, much like Hisoka. Now that he had further understanding, he doubted he could ever steal their hatsu. For one, he may have to make all the birds from scratch, depending on how it transferred. For two, it would be rather cruel. Like stealing someone’s children. For three, the very limitations they silently endured from the start were the very barrier he couldn’t mount. Ironically.

To build trust, it had to be a two way street. Chrollo opened to the first page and held out the book for them to read.

There were four conditions. (Yes, he was being hypocritical, but Specialists could get away with a lot of conditions.) To steal an ability, he had to see it, the creator had to touch his book, and it had to be verbally explained by the creator. That particular condition existed because writing was too easy to fake. Anyone could hand him a piece of paper after witnessing a hatsu and claim that was how it worked, but the very nature of his book demanded that it be explained by the creator, and wasted time was not preferred. He had added in the verbal part because, quite simply, he had forgotten some people could not verbally speak. And then of course to use an ability he had to have the book open to that exact page, sans the bookmark, which had its own conditions and operated as its own hatsu.

Hisoka hadn’t known the verbal part, still didn’t know the verbal part, so he didn’t know that even without the ill preferred conditions, Chrollo could never steal their abilities unless they found someone who could grow back their tongues. It was likely they didn’t want their tongues back. He imagined that after six years without they would never be able to get used to them again.

Nox read it. And then read it again, and then read it a third time. And then they started laughing, rather hysterically. They really were tired if they were laughing like that. Chrollo slapped his book shut and waited.

**Hisoka’s going to have a fit**, they finally wrote. He now understood what Hisoka meant by them having wild mood swings. This conversation had been a roller coaster.

“Likely. But you trusted me with something of your hatsu, so I thought it would be good manners to show you mine.”

Nox shook their head once again in disbelief and reached to grab an actual full sized notebook to start writing. It took them quite some time, but they eventually finished and handed him the notebook. Chrollo’s eyes scanned over the explanation, and he steadily began to realize why five conditions was worth it, and why they had been able to perform that massacre.

Though they had initially gave them sentience out of a sense of loneliness, and he was positive that was what it was, in true Morrow form they had weaponized that sentimentality, that weakness. Even the most skilled Conjurer simply couldn’t make a bird with as much excessive strength as Axis without pouring an incredible volume of Nen into his initial construction. It would be a waste of time and energy. They would simply do something else. Nox had stepped over that little roadblock with giving them regeneration, which required about half the energy, as they were already technically created with a pre existing template. Due to their sentience, their form always existed, it just wasn’t materialized when Nox didn’t need them. And given that the birds required progressively more and more Nen to conjure as they moved up the list, the theft ability aided them in their summonings, and likely enabled them to retain them far longer.

The conditions were worth it, even if Chrollo was too stubborn to admit it. The additional Ri fail safe was the icing on the cake. They had simply ignored their own limitations and found a loophole. He almost mourned that he would never be able to steal it, but then again, he would likely have to create his own birds with it. That would take weeks. Chrollo simply did not have the patience to hyper fixate on a hatsu he already had.

He wanted to see it in action.

“You know,” he finally said as he read it over one last time, “I can almost forgive you for the excessive conditions.”

He almost wanted to ignore his Hisoka fixation to try and wiggle Nyx’s hatsu out of them. Some might say he had a problem. He just utterly loved fascinating hatsus. Hisoka’s was fascinating in its own way. It was game changing, actually. So deceptively simple and yet it could counter almost anything at any time, so long as Hisoka kept his body in top shape. Feitan doubted it, but Hisoka could likely take on Rising Sun by simply attacking Feitan while he was maintaining it.

It made sense that Nox would have such a quirky hatsu with so many fail safes.

There was a knock at the door and Nox nearly jumped out of their skin. With such a large aura, they should have felt Feitan coming. Chrollo had. They really were tired.

Ri shimmered out of existence and Chrollo lamented that he hadn’t gotten to pet him. He wanted to know just how much realism they had poured into the bird.

Feitan opened the door, a glass of Pedialyte in hand and Nox’s bag in the other with a … shirt? He wasn’t sure. Yes, that was a shirt. One of those crop tops Nox seemed to love, with a hood. Feitan kicked the door shut with his heel and came further into the room to set the bag next to the bed and hand Nox the glass of Pedialyte.

“You look sick,” Feitan stated. If Phinks was here, he would be burying his face in his hands. Chrollo barely resisted the urge to sigh himself.

Nox sucked at the straw for a moment before they signed with one hand.

“_ I am. _”

That could have gone worse. Feitan held out the hoodie. There was a set of neat, perfectly placed stitches down the front, sealing a split, with a decorative zigzag pattern over it. Machi’s work, likely.

“You seem upset, so I ask Machi to fix it.”

This was both painful and almost cute to watch. Chrollo didn’t find much cute, but he had never seen Feitan act in such a way with a “fascination”.

Nox looked shocked. They rarely tried to hide any of their reactions. The glass was set down on the nightstand and they took the hoodie, letting their fingers run over the neat, bold stitches, stark white on a heather background. Chrollo wondered how it had gotten cut like that. They didn’t seem to have any severe injuries on their chest. They had been leaning too heavily on the toilet for that.

“_ Thank you, _” they signed and Feitan fidgeted. Chrollo’s stare tended to do that.

“I will go now,” he muttered and slapped something down on the nightstand before taking off like he was being chased by rabid dogs.

Chrollo stared at it. He would know that shape anywhere. Why did Feitan have a Spider coin split in half? He had stopped doing that trick years ago.

Nox picked it up and rolled it over in their fingers. It meant something. There had been a hole drilled in the top. From the way it gleamed, Chrollo was certain it was fresh.

“When did he split that?” He asked. “He hasn’t done that trick in years.”

Nox seemed to have forgotten he was there. They looked up at him and fidgeted uncomfortably. _ That _was definitely an emotional fidget. He could see it all over their body language: a young adult, a kid, really, with a crush. And Feitan, still a kid himself, was most certainly acting strangely, too. Chrollo had never seen him anywhere close to being flustered.

Now _ this _was interesting to watch. Perhaps he could learn something that would get Hisoka to relax.

**When I came back from Myoto. We were talking about something.**

So they _ were _approaching emotional intimacy, despite Nox’s protests. Good to know. Chrollo studied them, taking in their multitude of tells.

“Did he give you that then?”

Nox nodded and turned it over in their fingers again. They seemed embarrassed.

“Why did he have it now?”

**I must have dropped it.**

Hisoka had definitely not taught them to lie very well. That attempt was pitiful. He’d allow for the exhaustion. But, it did tell him that they were carrying it. A thought occurred to him.

“Nox, why did you take him with?”

**It made the clean up easier than doing it myself. He could help me bottleneck them.**

“I see. Haven’t you only gone on missions with Nyx?”

**Yeah, but they generally handle the tech side. I do the physical part.**

“I see. Taking someone you don’t trust like Nyx must have been a big jump.” He could lead a conversation to what he wanted very well. Nox was too tired to pick up on it like they normally would. Chrollo almost felt guilty. Almost.

**I don’t trust him like Nyx, but that doesn’t mean I don’t trust him like Feitan.**

That sentence was enough to push him into a headache. They were feeling their condition settle back in. They needed to sleep, but he couldn’t leave it be.

“What do you mean, like Feitan?”

**I mean I knew that if it came down to it, he would kill to keep me alive. So he was fine to take.**

Chrollo reached down to rifle through their bag and pull out their bottle of pills. Nox accepted them and shook out their dose after sending another text to Nyx to tell them it was time to take the medications. Then they took a big mouthful of Pedialyte and gulped down the pills. It was such a strange order to Chrollo, but it made sense. Liquid first to make the pills float. Almost everyone in his immediate circle swallowed them dry.

“So you trusted him to save your life.” Feitan had killed people for the offense before. Chrollo needed to talk to him. Did he know? Telling him may be the wrong move.

Nox nodded. Chrollo kept watching them.

Given how he was acting, he knew. Why he hadn’t killed them in the aftermath was the big question. Even with Ri, they had been incredibly vulnerable. Feitan simply did not have the self control to refrain. Chrollo knew that. He also knew that Nox’s death could have easily been passed off as happening in the battle. Feitan had the perfect cover. He wouldn’t have cared about the resulting death of Nyx. Why would he?

Instead of doing what he always did, he brought Nox home. He’d given back the coin he gifted them, even drilled a hole in the top so they could put it on a chain so they wouldn’t lose it again, and had Machi sew up a piece of torn clothing that had some form of sentimental value to Nox.

It seemed acting wildly out of character was going around like a viral infection.

“You should get some sleep,” he finally said and stood. “Finish your drink and go to bed.”

“_ You’re not my dad. _” Chrollo knew enough words to piece it together.

He really had sounded like a dad. Was that all it took to embarrass himself? A heart to heart with a kid to win them over so he could weasel his way into Hisoka’s heart? It really was a viral infection.

“I may not be your dad, but I’m right, so keep the attitude to a minimum.” Nen, he really was acting like a dad. Horrifying.

Chrollo escaped through the door as Nox snorted. He needed to nip that _ right _in the bud.

He had learned a lot. Quite a lot. Sure, he had to put up with relentless vomiting to get there, but everything required sacrifices. He could see why his troupe was warming up to them so quickly. They really were something else.

He couldn’t wait for an opportunity to wiggle under Nyx’s defenses. It had been some time since he had actually wanted to get along with people. This was shaping up to be a lot of fun. He got Hisoka and a bonus he got to get along with a set of rather remarkable twins. As far as he was concerned, this was a win win.

He could reflect on his lengthy confession later. Right now, he allowed himself a victory lap. It had taken an entire month, but he got to figure out one hatsu, and understand even more of the family dynamics that had formed Hisoka.

If he was certain of anything, it was that at some point the twins needed to stop protecting him. Their entire careful structure was going to collapse. No one on the outside had ever told them that. He just hoped he’d have an opportunity to do it gently before it all went to shit. For some reason, there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something was going to go very wrong, very quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient so I'm dumping three chapters tonight also they read better back to back instead of waiting .... till next Monday for what you think you know may be coming. There's a filler chapter and I don't want to frustrate anyone!


	46. The Thief and the Astronaut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Feitan have a conversation about romance on the roof.

Things were tense.

Nyx wasn’t good at talking to people. It was uncomfortable enough not being able to share Nen with Nox for the next week. That was the problem with Nox’s storage method: it gave them an immense boost for the next week, but the price to pay was they really couldn’t share Nen for seven days. Nyx was not involved in the condition, so they couldn’t touch it. Sometimes they suspected Nox stored it as a way to get some space from them. It hurt a little. Felt like a rejection. Nyx hated it. Nox needed space, yeah, whatever, but did they really have to push Nyx away like that? They hadn’t even asked when they made it, all those years ago. It wasn’t like Nyx really cared how tainted their aura got after going on a killing spree. It wasn’t that different from how Nyx felt after their own killing sprees, it was just amplified.

Nox seemed to like to find comfort in those damned crows instead.

Nyx hated it.

They also hated that they really needed Nox right now, but they were still coming in and out of consciousness. Nyx didn’t know what to do about Ky’ia. Nox always knew what to do with people. They were so much better with people than Nyx was. It was frustrating. Sure, Nyx was smarter on a book level, cooler, more level headed, less prone to making mistakes. But they knew that came at a price. Being on top all the time came at a price, and that price was making them untouchable, and therefore unable to really connect.

Nox helped them with that.

Nyx wished they could help them with whatever shit they had going on, but Nox had gotten a little distant over the past month. No, scratch that, that put the blame on the troupe. It had been happening over the past six months. Nyx missed them. There were no more half cocked adventures, no sense of joy at discovering new things, no pranks on Hisoka, none of that playful energy that used to possess Nox and drew Nyx into their orbit.

Nyx didn’t know what to do about it.

There was no Nyx if there was no Nox, and Nox was a shell of a Nox right now. Nyx knew it was called “growing up”, but it didn’t feel like it. Nyx was growing up, too, and it didn’t turn them into that. Nox was always so sad nowadays, when they thought Nyx couldn’t catch it. Nyx caught everything. Maybe they were just tired, too tired to talk about it, and suffering in silence.

They needed Nox right now. Hisoka would be useless for advice. He always balked at the very idea of the twins having romantic attachments, and even while he liked Ky’ia, that was just too much for him right now. Nyx hadn’t expected there to be a bump so soon into this whole adventure.

It wasn’t that Ky’ia was angry with them. They weren’t. They had no idea how to shift their aura to hide their emotions. They were just confused right now. Nyx was at a loss of what to do. Nox would probably tell them to give Ky’ia some space, but Nyx wasn’t sure that they could do that. Control was always firmly in Nyx’s palm, and the thought that they couldn’t guide this situation along, that they had to rely on Ky’ia coming to their own conclusions without Nyx even having a chance to defend themselves was a bit too much to handle.

They probably didn’t have to crush him. They had just reacted on instinct. They could have made his heart give out, spun him upside down and let the blood build and build and build in his head with increasing g’s until he hemorrhaged. A part of them wanted Ky’ia to see the worst of what they could do, so they could understand early, not drag Ky’ia along until they realized how sadistic Nyx could really be. How sadistic they  _ had  _ to be, sometimes. It was best to get it over with quickly.

Because, Nen help them, Ky’ia was the best person Nyx had ever met with the exception of Klaus. Nyx wanted them to understand exactly what they were getting into with them. They wanted to give them the ability to make an informed decision about what they were doing. It wasn’t like they could just tell them. They could talk about how dark and edgy and terrible they were all they liked, but ultimately it would all sound pretentious. Nox had told them they were very pretentious. That was fair. Ultimately, Nox was always better at actually explaining emotional things. Likely because they could actually show a shred of emotion that wasn’t the bare base level. When Nyx tried, they sounded like an ass.

Nyx had to show.

They weren’t about to apologize for who they were. They weren’t going to apologize for liking it. They weren’t going to be forced into a mask, forced to pretend to regret when they really couldn’t, didn’t want to. Every death was deliberate, calculated, executed, and necessary. That was a fact of life. Even the bystanders. Even the innocent people. Nyx wasn’t always the person behind the computer. They got on the ground, even without Nox, and got the job done.

They also had never had an experience like Jun. They recognized that. In hindsight, Nox had started to change after Jun. It just escalated about six months ago. There were signs.

That was why Hisoka was so hellbent on keeping them away from Feitan. Because of Jun. Because they were fragile. Because they weren’t letting Nyx and Hisoka piece them back together. In a way, Nyx was jealous of Feitan. They couldn’t understand how Nox trusted them so little nowadays, but Feitan was shouldering his way in over the span of a month without even realizing how fragile they were. And Nox was letting him. It infuriated Nyx, though they would never admit it.

Nyx wished Jun had never happened. Or that it had been them that went in. They could compartmentalize it. They could seal it away. They could let it lie. It wouldn’t affect them the way it did Nox, because they wouldn’t have lost control like Nox.

That was the only time Nox had ever unleashed Axis outside of practice, and the very first time they used Black Symphony. They never used it again. Nyx still remembered the screams. They had done it all with him and Heavy, number 48. It was Axis that had blown up the building. They were supposed to just use 25 and under. They hadn’t. It had just been too much for them. Even #2, Gem, could rip through a human body and break through a brick wall. A very thin one, but whatever. She alone could have been enough.

Nyx wished it had been them. Then Hisoka wouldn’t be upset now. Then Nox would be fine. They didn’t have Nox’s range, but they could have done it. It may have taken them longer, but they could have managed it without the resulting massacre.

What was done was done, and now they had to manage the situation with Ky’ia by themselves. Ky’ia was far below them, doing that breathing exercise they had taught Gon, and Nyx was sitting in Nox’s spot on the roof, watching them.

They were probably being a little creepy. That was fine. They wanted to be on the roof for more reasons than the vantage point. In a way they missed Nox. It felt like they were closer to them up here. And they were out of range of that damned aura that prevented them from knowing what Nox was feeling. They hated the reminder.

An aura was on the balcony behind them, rising up to land softly on the roof, and there was the source of Nyx’s jealousy. Feitan.

Feitan drew near and sat down next to Nyx. Nyx ignored him, consciously muted their animosity. Ultimately, they were a very selfish person, the most selfish of the three of them. They knew that. They didn’t apologize for it. But they also knew that they needed to chill, pull back, maintain the assessment they kept open for viewing.

Feitan seemed … off. Perhaps sad. A little confused. His aura was pulled in tighter than a catsuit, and that alone set off warning bells in Nyx’s head.

“You are upset,” Feitan said and pulled his knees to his chin. It was strange, looking at him. Nyx forgot he was only 23.

They weren’t going to be as naive about his act as Nox was. As messy and hard as Nox was, they believed anything that made them feel good. Sometimes Nyx suspected Nox had been the one born second. The two didn’t know. It was never mentioned when their home was still their home. It wasn’t important. But they couldn’t deny how often they filled in the role of older sibling.

Nyx hated that he was here right now. They wanted to be alone with their thoughts.

They didn’t respond to his assessment. It seemed that everyone was upset right now. Nox, Hisoka, Nyx, Gon, and now Feitan. And Ky’ia … Yeah. They were upset. Nyx wished they’d just be mad at them. That would be easier to deal with.

“You do not trust me,” Feitan added. Nyx didn’t dignify that with a reply. “You and Hisoka think I am bad influence.”

Hisoka thought he was a bad influence. Nyx thought he was far more insidious than merely qualifying as a “bad influence”. Sometimes Hisoka missed the big picture when he was hellbent on forgetting the small ones. There was a growing amount of words they didn’t say in their house. Jun. Alexandre. Trask. Ringley Circus. Anabelle. Anabelle, who had faithfully carried their last bit of home for so long so they wouldn’t be taken. That little girl with the misshapen face who no one was interested in except for the very, very few men who had that fetish. Their necklaces never seemed to solely symbolize the Gemini nowadays.

It never stopped hurting.

The sun was starting to go down. Nox would wake up soon. Feitan watched the colors spill across the sky, and Nyx forced themselves to swallow down their distaste. Talking to him may reveal what was going through Nox’s head. Their pride ached.

They shifted to sit cross legged and pulled out their notepad.

**Hisoka does. I don’t.**

“They have bigger impact than me,” Feitan muttered. Something had happened in Gorten. Nyx could see it all over him. Why he was going to  _ Nyx  _ of all people for comfort was beyond them. He had a whole fucking troupe to talk to.

**What do you mean?**

Feitan’s eyes fell on Ky’ia, all the way down in the grass. They had been at it ever since Gon had burst into tears four hours ago. Nyx still didn’t know what to do.

“They saw you kill someone.”

Nyx wasn’t too keen on talking about their relationship problems when Nox’s were so much more interesting and not so close to home, but whatever. They just nodded.

“You do not know what to do.” It looked more like Feitan didn’t know what to do. Nyx wasn’t sure why it would matter if he killed someone. Nox and Nyx killed bystanders all the time, and he knew that. It wouldn’t bother Nox.

Feitan lifted his head and Nyx was shocked. He looked so unbearably fragile. Just like Nox. Something dangerously close to a realization was dawning on them and they aggressively pushed it away.

“They trust me with your life. And they were right.”

_ This  _ was what he was upset about? What kind of …

**Is that a big deal?**

“I have had fascinations before,” Feitan said bluntly. “Like Nox. I have killed many for trusting me with their lives. I could not kill them. So they were right.”

Nyx couldn’t fight it off anymore. Realization crashed in on them. He couldn’t talk to anyone in the troupe about this. They wouldn’t understand. But he could talk to Nyx, the closest person in the world to Nox despite all their family problems, and as much as Nyx would hate it, they’d get it.

Rather bold and kind of rude of Nox to just trust Nyx’s life to a creep like Feitan, but as always, Nox’s gut instincts were spot on. Nyx wanted to laugh. They kind of wanted to cry. Of course, Nox saw the good even in the worst of people. What couldn’t they do?

“They think you’re perfect,” Feitan said softly. That stopped all of those feelings welling up right there. Nyx stiffed.

“ _ What? _ ”

“They think you’re perfect,” Feitan repeated. “Think you can do anything. They said you never make mistakes.”

Nyx’s heart broke a little. They understood each other so well, but at the end of the day, they always made mistakes. They may be the last of their kind, Specialists, with the perfect offense and defense, able to do anything they wanted, whenever they wanted to do it, overcome any obstacle, but they were still human.

**They’re a bit stupid sometimes** , Nyx scrawled on the paper.  **Nox can make any mistake they want. I can’t. I’m not Nox. If I make a mistake, I don’t bounce back.**

That was the crux of it. If Jun had been them, they wouldn’t have made that mistake. They wouldn’t have made it, because unlike Nox, they wouldn’t have been able to dig their heels in and eventually stopped once they started. Nyx would have kept going. The convention center would have been a warmup for the main event: destroying the city, or at least trashing as much as they could until someone put them and therefore Nox down.

Nox knew. Nox knew the second that convention center came crashing down that they  _ needed  _ to stop, because they would have killed Nyx, too. No matter how selfish Nox got, their love for Nyx and Hisoka rose up and put a stop to them at their worst moments. Nox was more akin to a wounded animal when they lost it. Nyx, however, was a vengeful god when they finally cracked. They were selfish, and both Nox and Nyx knew it. There was a reason for their tight control. They couldn’t afford to let go. Nox didn’t have their perfect control because there was never as much at stake. And Nyx loved them for that.

Feitan was silent.

“You should tell them, not me.”

**I can’t.**

“Your family seems to think there is much you all cannot do.”

Nyx looked out at the horizon as the last tendrils of the sun kissed the tops of the trees. It was funny. Feitan had come to talk about Feitan, but now the sun had fallen and it was night, and they were talking about Nox. Nyx pulled out their phone to type. Reading the notebook would be a pain.

**If we talk about it, it brings up things we can’t talk about, things Nox has done that I am just not cruel enough to remind them of.**

“I think you all spend too much time protecting each other and not enough time really loving each other.”

Nyx didn’t particularly want to be lectured by Feitan of all people. They pursed their lips.

**You act like you know more about love than us.**

Feitan looked fragile again. Something had happened. More than just the whole trust thing. He looked over the edge, down at Ky’ia, who was finally standing up. Their entire back was wet from the dew.

“I do not,” he admitted. “I did not care to know it before.”

Nyx was torn. On one hand, they wanted to feel jealous that Nox was growing so close to him when they were pushing them so far away. It felt like he was stealing their twin away, but at the end of the day, Nox was their own person. And there had been a wider and wider gap opening between all three of them, really, over the past year. Actions have consequences. This was theirs. So if it took Nox talking to someone outside of the family, growing close to someone outside of the family, to bring them back to the center, so be it. It was probably healthy, despite who Feitan was, though it hurt to admit.

He was here. He was talking to them. He was offering an olive branch, and that alone convinced Nyx that he wasn’t intent on wrecking it all.

**Do you love my sibling?**

“I think is too early to tell, but …” Feitan watched Ky’ia go inside. “Is funny. You are having issues because you killed someone.”

**I don’t see how that’s funny.**

Feitan blew out a long breath and tilted back his head to look at the stars starting to peek out.

“You cannot tell Nox,” he said softly.

**Tell them what?**

“There was … boy, in Gorten. Maybe sixteen. A Conjurer. He tried to fight me. Gave me this black eye. I knew he did not … know what he was helping. He was being taken advantage of. Normally I do not care, but I … saved him. From Rising Sun.”

Normally Nyx would be pissed that there was a survivor. They would be furious. There were never meant to be survivors, but they couldn’t stop listening.

“I try to say I was wanting to impress them, but they would be pissed at survivor, and I did not intend to tell them the moment I made choice.” Feitan blinked as a breeze swept over the rooftop. Nyx felt their heart hammer in their chest. “Everything else I did was enough to impress them. I know that. I know how strong I am. I know I can burn everything to ash, kill even more people than them. I can do anything I want, and I know it. But anything I want is not enough to … deserve them.”

Nyx wanted to cry. They really wanted to cry, because Nox had thought no one would be willing to try for them, want them for anything other than how deadly they were. They had believed it, and here was Feitan, Feitan fucking Portor, the second Spider, sparing one small little insignificant life because he understood what they truly needed, learning how to sign despite knowing Nox could leave before he was even close to intermediate. Nox had thought it would never happen. Nyx had known better, but watching it in live time was something they never thought they were going to witness.

Yeah. Feitan had won them over. And Nyx couldn’t be mad about it because they were so, so happy for Nox.

“I do not know what to do,” he said, so softly the wind almost caught it.

**Keep trying** , Nyx typed out before they could stop themselves.  **Just keep trying. Don’t care about anything else, or who you were before. Just keep trying.**

Feitan read over the screen and for a moment Nyx saw his eyes blur with tears. He blinked them away as quickly as they came, and just like that, Nyx knew the answer to their own question.

Just keep trying. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered. Just keep trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's ,,,, coming
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	47. The Coward and His Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo learns what it means to have courage. Hisoka is an excellent teacher.

There was a lot to reflect on. Namely, anything but his confession to Nox. Primarily, Nox’s insistence that Hisoka needed to do  _ something. _

They were right, really. Chrollo had known from the very start that he was acting on instinct, that Hisoka couldn’t handle not being out there, doing what he did. He knew that he was responding to a very primal portion of himself, that take was very similar to keep. He knew that he was not thinking at all.

There was currently the problem of prioritizing his issues. There was the issue of the gala being four days away. If anything, Hisoka making a public appearance was needed. Kalluto had texted him a few days ago that Illumi was getting worked up over his absence. Hisoka remaining silent, unseen, was enough to work a lot of people up into a fit. After all, who knew what kind of shit Hisoka was cooking up if he wasn’t visible?

A colossal operation to take down a thirty year old sex trafficking ring. With the assistance of the Phantom Troupe. So, he could cook up quite a lot, objectively.

They were probably right to be so nervous, though Illumi only had to complain about lost clients he had no idea were involved. Others, though?

The other problem on hand was the problem of Feitan. Feitan had very little self control. Chrollo could not afford to lose the twins right now. Or, rather, Hisoka could not afford to lose the twins right now. Besides, the troupe almost liked them, quirks and all. They almost fit right in. The Morrows were beginning to function as the matching puzzle piece, and if his Spiders liked them enough they would be more willing to accept Hisoka becoming their Widow. And, besides, he liked Nox’s hatsu. And their scathing tongue. Nyx, he was certain, would have one that was just as interesting, and come out of their shell eventually. If this all didn’t end too soon.

Nox was right on another front. Actually, they were right on multiple fronts. One, they could trust Feitan in that moment, because he hadn’t killed them later. Two, Nyx could do everything just as well as Hisoka. In the month they’d been here, Nyx had taken full advantage of the fact that they had ten highly skilled people at their disposal, took advantage of their penchant for theft, and used it as the carrot to add extra incentive to do the job properly. Every single bank they had tracked down as a final piece, every drop point, every laundering operation, either had something worth stealing or a clue that led to something worth stealing. Watching the twins work was like watching someone conduct a symphony. Nyx barely needed any advice from Hisoka at all, and Hisoka had only remained together as much as he was out of the joy of watching them work.

Nox, also, was surprisingly organized with the proper incentive. Chrollo was staring at the result of that now.

The map before him was a very expensive one, with every city, every town, plastered on the large bay window because there hadn’t been anymore space.

All of the dates were marked with colorful sticky notes, and the colors denoted whether it was a pick up, drop off, laundering operation, and small initials filled in next to the dates told whether it was a manipulated person or blank footage. It was incredibly organized. Chrollo had been staring at it for the past several days. Shalnark had made a project of digitizing it.

The new pickups were repeating themselves. All of the laundering operations were accounted for. No new ones had popped up since the twins arrived. A pattern was going to reveal itself soon, but he wasn’t sure if they had the time to wait.

He needed to know the pattern.

“It changes every six months.” Hisoka had snuck up on him. A welcome change.

The taller man walked up behind him and slid onto the desk to sit. The chair was right there. Chrollo ignored the blatant disrespect of his space. It wasn’t like the twins hadn’t completely overtaken it first. All of them, really, were so disrespectful.

Chrollo’s eyes roamed over the paper. It was so frustrating to see a problem he couldn’t solve.

“We used to think it repeated every six months,” Hisoka said bitterly. “But every six months the laundering changes, the accounts are all drained simultaneously by manipulated people, and it goes silent for a while before it picks up again with all new places.”

“It’s very efficient.”

“It’s been going for thirty years. Of course it is.”

That was the painful reminder hanging over everyone’s head. Thirty years, and no one could have done anything. The Morrows and now the Phantom Troupe had to do what was impossible.

To Chrollo, the impossible was just the inevitable.

“Do you think we have everything?”

“We know where everything is on the board but the king.”

That was the problem. They had everything. They had everything they needed, all of it, and yet it was just out of reach.

“If we could find the Manipulator …”

“We would have to find the pattern to find the Manipulator,” Hisoka said bluntly. “However they do it, it’s very small. Almost unnoticeable. Likely a pin, or a thorn. You can’t see it on the CCTV footage.”

Even Illumi Zoldyck’s needles were fairly recognizable, and he was widely considered the best Manipulator of human beings on the continent. Chrollo liked a challenge. He didn’t like to be frustrated by one.

“Perhaps they aren’t small. Maybe they just had to hide them. How were they able to withdraw such a large sum?”

“The accounts transfer into their names about an hour before they pull it,” Hisoka explained. “That’s partially why I sent Nyx to the law firm. They handle the paperwork and tying it up in enough loopholes to make it impossible for them to get hit with taxes afterwards. I thought if I knew who sanctioned it I would figure it out, but it just circles back to Edwin. He’s not the head. We spent about two years confirming that.”

“I could just have Feitan torture it out of him and make it look like a car crash,” Chrollo said mildly. It was an option. Hisoka sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Feitan wouldn’t be able to get to him without triggering Rising Sun and making a mess. You’ve seen his bodyguards.”

It was true. Edwin was paranoid. Chrollo was certain he slept with two bodyguards in his room. Grabbing him would take weeks to plan and execute, and they would need all resources on board to get there.

“How long until they scatter again?”

“They set up about two months before we got here,” Hisoka replied. “So I would say about three months. We’re at the point where we can gather all of the information we need in two to four months, but then we just spend the remaining two or four months trying to find the pattern and following any movement before we lose the trail again.”

So the troupe hadn’t cut down down the information time all that much. Chrollo almost felt like his pride was wounded.

“So why did you think you can finish this time?”

Hisoka was silent as he stared at the map.

“That’s what we say every time,” he said softly. Chrollo almost wanted to hug him.

“And you believe it?”

“Yes. Every time.”

If it wasn’t so sad, almost pathetic, it would be amazing. They all were slightly deluded. He was coming to realize they were all walking a tightrope, one after the other, just shy of delusional so they could continue to march on. At least they were honest about it.

Six years of this for the twins, ten for Hisoka. It was hard to reconcile. Again, he was blown away by the sheer level of commitment and power Hisoka displayed.

“I talked to Nox,” he suddenly said. He recalled the way Hisoka pushed, prodded, tugged at him to get a response. He hadn’t really stopped. He needed more. Chrollo was going to give him it.

“You shouldn’t have. They’re exhausted. Their sleep schedule is going to be fucked for weeks now.” There was that parent in Hisoka coming back, that older brother that he never seemed to switch off from. That quality that had sent Gon running to him in tears.

“They probably needed to talk.”

“About what?”

He’d promised Nox he wasn’t going to mention it, and this family was entirely too explosive for him to go back on promises. Perhaps Nox would tell Hisoka eventually.

“I promised them I wouldn’t repeat. It was said in confidence,” he said bluntly. Hisoka looked up at that and his eyes narrowed rather dangerously, promising all the pain he could deal to Chrollo.

Chrollo needed to stop thinking about what would pull Hisoka in, what would get him comfortable, what would make him open up and trust him. Hisoka had enough people protecting his fragile heart. The twins could do that, and Chrollo would let them. If Hisoka got jealous, or even worried, because Nox had confided in him about something they wouldn’t even talk to him about, he would just have to deal with it. Because, ultimately, Chrollo knew that tugging and toying was not what would pull Hisoka in. Being honest, respecting autonomy, even though it pissed Hisoka off initially, respecting the twins … Yeah. The three of them were a package deal. And ultimately Hisoka would cherish Chrollo’s respect of them far more than he would cherish Chrollo just trying to appease him.

He was practically their parent, after all. Not just their brother, but their parent. Which meant Chrollo was committing to effectively becoming a stepfather. How strange.

“What I can tell you, however, was that I had two realizations. The first, after Nox eloquently informed me that I was being a jackass, was that I can’t keep you locked up in the manor. Even if you aren’t technically locked up. The three of you seem to be afflicted with suffering in silence and only speaking up when someone else is hurting, so I believe that I need to reassess my conditions. The gala is in four days, and you’re the only one that can get in. I would like to accompany you.”

Hisoka pursed his lips. Chrollo wasn’t certain if he was going to cuss him out or laugh.

“It figures that it would take Nox cussing you out to get me out of this manor,” Hisoka finally said. Chrollo could visibly see him swallow back a laugh. At least someone could find amusement in how often he was being disrespected by teenagers nowadays. Nox was a menace.

“They seem to not know what fear is.”

“They do. They just don’t care,” Hisoka corrected. “What was the second realization?”

This one was going to be harder. Chrollo didn’t like to admit weakness. He had only managed his confession to Nox because his mouth had opened and everything came tumbling out. Unplanned. He had not sat there and carefully constructed his words, pulled and prodded and tried to manipulate Nox. He had just done what Hisoka had done: told the truth. Hisoka had shown him how to do that. He had watched him throw aside pretentious decisions and thoughts on how he could get to his goal and just said what a scared and hurting and lonely kid needed to hear. And then he had done it himself. Now he needed to say his own truth to Hisoka.

“You are a far stronger man that I,” Chrollo admitted. He gave in. Hisoka was someone meant to fly, and now Chrollo realized that he needed to learn to soar with him. No more toying, no more plotting, no more poking and prodding to see what would work. Just a leap of faith. “While I was … taking my trauma and using it as an excuse to hurt, to chase the power out of my grasp, to do what I wanted and throw aside any attachments that were threatening enough to make me fear loss, you were dismantling a thirty year old institution and accepting a set of hurt, scared, and fragile twins you could have lost in an instant into your life, accepting that fear because you decided they were  _ worth it  _ and you were brave enough to accept that fear. I was chasing after you this past month because I wanted to understand the unique power you showed, because I always want what I can’t have, and I told myself I did understand it, but I realized when … Nox said that, that I didn’t. I was lying to myself. Because I wouldn’t let you leave to go back on the ground. And I was foolish. Your assessment of Ging … It was very much like me. My troupe has a rule. You know it. If someone dies, they can be replaced by their killer. We all love each other dearly, but we can never reach full power because all of us are afraid of fearing loss. So we will never love each other enough to care if someone dies. But you have … done something to me. You have made me want to be more like you, to deserve you. You’ve made me realize that I am a coward. But you’ve also inspired me to be brave, and to tell you the truth. And the truth is that you… I could never deserve you. But I want to, anyways.”

Hisoka was finally unreadable. He seemed stunned. Chrollo felt something. Very similar to that movie Machi loved to watch at Christmas, he felt his heart start growing at his honesty. Because, ultimately, Chrollo had been chasing Hisoka’s power. He had been manipulating, prodding, tugging, pulling, trying to plan and pull it out of him, to possess Hisoka so he could possess that power, and it took a couple of crying, vulnerable teenagers for him to realize the truth: he had thought he was in love with Hisoka in one way, and then he had truly fallen in love with him, and he had done everything the wrong way. Because there was so much strength in vulnerability, and that was the power he wanted to possess, but he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t be vulnerable himself.

It was like Hisoka said. People knew when you spoke the truth. And there was nothing more truthful than vulnerability.

Carefully, so carefully, finally understanding the fear of rejection, he extended his hand to Hisoka, let him see the fear in his eyes, soak it in. He was terrified. He was really terrified. Such an odd sensation.

Hisoka took it, gently, caressing, held it for a moment, as though he was memorizing this moment, and then he pulled Chrollo close, reached up, and pulled him down.

Time slowed to a halt. Chrollo stared into golden, they were golden in the soft glow of the lamps, eyes, and Hisoka breathed out against his lips. A hand caressed his cheek, and then Hisoka closed his eyes and pressed their lips together.

Chrollo’s eyes fluttered shut. As he tasted papaya, that intoxicating papaya he had breathed centuries ago, he realized. He understood why the fear was worth it. If he didn’t have the fear, this moment … He never wanted to let it go.

The kiss was chaste. Chaste, but intimate. Hisoka’s hand was warm on his cheek, and Chrollo felt like he could cry because he should have done this all along. A month wasted of him playing his games that only served to further stress Hisoka, only served to make him more suspicious, more uncertain. But now? He finally understood Hisoka’s world, and now that he had a taste, he couldn’t let it go.

Hisoka broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against Chrollo’s. Their breaths fell out in synch. Chrollo didn’t want it to end.

“I should go check on Nox,” Hisoka finally said, softly, kindly. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to go. Chrollo needed to let him go. His hand was so warm.

“You can stay. You don’t have to go,” Chrollo murmured and Hisoka let out a shaky breath. They both knew Nox was going to be just fine. They were an adult, regardless of Hisoka’s feelings on the matter. “Just stay.”

“Okay,” Hisoka breathed. His hand was shaking. Chrollo held it a little more tightly. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay nearly 150k words later I'm so sorry it took so long please forgive me I always took slowburn too seriously. I will accept no criticism on this chapter I edited it maybe 100 times. If you liked it, PLEASE let me know because I crave internet validation.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	48. The Mountain and the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Ky'ia come to terms about what love looks like

Nox was gone again. Sleeping for 24 hours would do that. They were always strange, off, after their comas. Too much energy and nowhere to put it.

That was fine. Nyx could sit in their shared bedroom in silence now, tapping away at their laptop. It was midnight.

They had left Ky’ia alone. Nox had finally texted them back after they climbed down from the roof, clearly freshly woken up and likely frustrated with the text wall they had been greeted with. Nyx had probably overdone it. It seemed to be going around, overdoing things.

They had just texted one reply, and ignored the resulting texts to really drive the obvious point home.

**You already know what I’m going to say, but apparently I need to say it anyways. Leave them alone, you control freak, and let them figure it out. Stop flipping out. I was in a goddamn coma, jackass.**

Eloquent and harsh as always.

Nyx decided to throw their nervous energy into work. They had been going through photos of every manipulated “drop box”, as they called them, for the past four hours. They still couldn’t find the pattern. Varying hair types and lengths, different clothes, some in suits, some in hoodies. Nothing obvious to indicate an entry point. None of it made sense.

They always came back to the Manipulator’s victims when they were stressed. They all acted like fairly normal people. Not even like zombies. They were moderately robotic, sure, but other than that they could pass for a normal person in a crowd. It was aggravating. Nyx didn’t like not being able to figure something out, and it had been years now. If they had a crew of twenty men waiting to be activated for when an account changed ownership they could have solved this problem. But they just didn’t have the manpower. Even now with the troupe they didn't have enough people spread out to catch this. They didn’t have time to wait around indefinitely in various cities for an account to change ownership. And the troupe very likely wouldn’t agree to it, anyways.

It was all very frustrating.

Frustrating enough to distract them from Ky’ia.

It hurt. Nyx didn’t like to admit to being hurt. They hyper fixated on their family and their various pains enough. How could they not? Everyone’s pain was the same. Though Hisoka didn’t share their “condition”, as everyone insisted on calling it, even his pain blended with the twins’. It all formed into one mass where they all understood each other, constantly ducked and dodged to prevent forming more pains, stepped around the sore spots like it was second nature, made unconscious promises.

They didn’t like to admit that it was unhealthy, to not talk about things, to not push things.

Feitan’s observation rankled them because he was right, and the very concept was infuriating, because that was  _ how  _ they loved. Shelving all of it, for each other, for themselves, pushing it aside to talk about later, when they were done. It was all left unsaid so it could all be said when it was over. It was the one thing they let themselves look forward to. No one could die because there was so much left to say. That was how it worked.

And then there was Ky’ia. Nyx wasn’t sure if they were hurting over the abrupt loss of Ky’ia or because of the harsh realization that it was always going to be like this.

Nox had it easy. Feitan may say it was too early to tell, but Nyx was pretty sure the normal rules of dating went out the window when you had spent approximately seven hundred and thirty hours, more or less, they couldn’t be bothered counting the exact days, living in the same house, and approximately … Hm. Calculating the exact hours they had spent together was too much of a bother.

Anyway, the rules went out the window. It was a lot of time to know someone.

He definitely loved them, and they were, honestly, perfect together. Even visually they were appealing side by side. Sure there was a  _ lot  _ of baggage to be unpacked in  _ that _ mess, but that objectively only strengthened the commitment. Once they were both on board, they were going to be unstoppable. That was, of course, reliant on Nox not being an idiot for once. Though, Nox was rarely an idiot when it came to matters of the heart. No, that burden fell on Nyx.

Besides. Nox needed someone who understood things. Not only understood them, but did the same. They were very often possessed with all the guilt that Nyx skillfully skirted around. Should they be with a normal person they would never be really happy, much like Hisoka.

Yeah. Feitan was good for them. Nyx had been worried he’d toss Nox aside like an old rag at first, but their fears had been soothed with the rooftop discussion.

See? They could understand people. They just had to be clinical about it.

And then there was Ky’ia. No matter how much Nyx tried to distract themselves with everyone else’s issues, they had  _ just _ been about to get in the mess that was Chrollo and Hisoka, they got dragged back to their own worries that they didn’t want right now.

Ky’ia hadn’t even actively rejected them yet, and Nyx could already feel it. They were never supposed to work out, no matter how much Hisoka had insisted they’d be fine together.

They weren’t supposed to work precisely because of that small hope Hisoka still stubbornly carried: that the twins would be fine and normal and adjust after all of this to be your average Hunters.

Hisoka only managed to function out of that blind faith that they had been spared from the worst of it all. It just wasn’t possible. Nox had Jun and Nyx… Nyx knew there was something off about themselves. They were very well aware. They possessed no empathy for anyone outside of their family and chosen people. They could pick and choose who they cared for. It didn’t happen naturally for them. There were deliberate choices made. They had chosen Ky’ia first because they found them strong and endearing, second because this was a lesson Nox could not teach them. They were cold. Clinical. Killing like they had killed in front of Ky’ia gave birth to a sense of superiority, a sense of power, a sense that they were a god. They couldn’t help it.

There were only a few reasons they didn’t carry that into day to day life. The first was that they knew where that path took a person. You lost all of your friends, family, lovers, everything. You drove away any friends you could possibly have, and you never really cared. As detached as Nyx was, they didn’t particularly view that as a viable life for them. They saw too many people in the ring itself that acted in such a manner, and it was a little too close to home. Because, at the end of the day, all of those men and women would die. They would die just like the gods, and it was all for nothing. You flew too close to the sun and you got put down like a dog. That was how it worked.

The second reason was the fact that they knew it was wrong that they didn’t particularly care about how monstrous they were. It was objectively wrong, and they had enough sense to understand that when your normal meter was as jacked up as theirs was, you had to rely on actual normal people’s meters to determine what you should do on a moral level. It was a part that didn’t work, and you weren’t supposed to use a part that didn’t work.

So Nyx let themselves feel like a god, and then they packed it away, neat and tidy, and didn’t touch it until it needed to come out again.

That wasn’t something that was going to fade with time. It was always going to be there. Sure, Nyx could go on and live a life free of killing, but again. They weren’t going to shove their entire self into a box. That would be counterproductive, because, much like they had seen in Nox, they would explode.

They always learned from Nox’s mistakes. Because they understood that if they didn’t, they would make the same, and then they would only fuel Nox, and Nox could actually feel guilt. Nox could be tormented in a way that Nyx just couldn’t. And Nyx was always going to pick up Nox’s broken pieces. That was what they were there for.

It would be counterproductive to feed into Nox. Because then Nyx wouldn’t just be cleaning up Nox’s mess, but their own. Then again, Nox’s messes were Nyx’s. That was how it was.

It wasn’t like they were like this normally. They could feel things. Maybe not on the level Nox did, but they could grow attached to people when they deigned to do so. They could love. They could empathize in specific circumstances. But, objectively, they were still just slightly … off. That was all.

Hisoka would likely tell them when it was all over they were going to unpack that in therapy and grow past it, but Nyx knew better.

Some things you could grow past. But some things you just had to learn to work around. They were always going to be there. Nyx had already partially figured out how to work around them. It was likely a therapist could really help fill in the gaps, but that was it. Nyx was Nyx. Nyx was always going to be Nyx.

But that didn’t mean they would ever be a good fit for someone like Ky’ia. Or anyone, really. Ky’ia had felt their aura when Nyx killed that man. They still couldn’t remember his name. Oh, well. Why remember the name of a corpse? They didn’t need names. They never did.

They didn’t even know their parents’ names.

In any case, Ky’ia knew, and explaining the full picture couldn’t do a damn thing to fix it. Nox was right. If anything, Ky’ia would only be more horrified if Nyx explained it, anyways. Nyx was fully aware that the way they managed it wasn’t “normal”. You shouldn’t be able to pack entire factors of your personality and being into a neat little box and then move on and only take them out when you need them.

How could anyone really completely trust them with that kind of knowledge? It wouldn’t be very logical of them.

Ky’ia had been chosen as a punishment to Nyx, a punishment Nyx now regretted, because it hurt. It really did hurt. The hammer that felt like it had already fallen. Nyx still secretly had wants, needs. They let Nox dream for the both of them because they firmly believed that Nox could have the things Nyx wanted for the both of them.

They would get over it, of course. It may take a little while, perhaps a month or two, but no one was better than Nyx at shutting off undesirable emotions and moving past things. They just had to decide to, and it would be done. And they would never make the same mistake again.

Even so, Nyx wanted to love someone. It would be counterproductive and, quite frankly, rather creepy of them to love someone that didn’t love them, however. Nyx was a carefully balanced game of Tetris. Cold, clinical, but entirely devoted to loving people that wanted to be loved. They needed to love people. That was the one box of their brain that never really felt full. They were someone that took care of everyone else, managed everyone else, and accepted the love they received in return.

Nyx wanted to love someone like Ky’ia. They didn’t want someone like Feitan that would feed into all of their undesirable qualities. Because with someone like Nox, Feitan was going to soothe over their undesirable qualities, reassure them, not feed them but focus on everything else that made them worth loving. With someone like Nyx, with a person like Feitan, Nyx would be unable to show any remorse or regret about how they were, and there would be no soothing response. It just wouldn’t work.

Nyx knew enough about self love to know that you should love someone that watered your garden, not burned your crops.

They weren’t someone people changed for. They changed for people. They didn’t have the kind of quality that inspired change.

It was a pity.

They really did like Ky’ia. Something about warm brown eyes and a bright bold smile made something flutter in their chest, and they didn’t want that fluttering to stop. When they were with them, they were seized by a compulsion to grab their hand and kiss it, to spin them around in the rain on an abandoned street, to show them the world Nyx never really got to enjoy.

They were likely going to go home after this, like Gon.

Nyx knew their feelings were based on a lack of experience, but they didn’t really care.

It felt nice.

Very little felt nice.

There was a knock at the door. Ky’ia. Nyx took a deep breath, chasing away the ugly feelings that were bubbling to the surface, and knocked twice on the nightstand. Of course Ky’ia was too kind to let them come to their own conclusions. Nyx would prefer ghosting. They wanted it to be cruel, they wanted the point to be driven home, they wanted to be reminded of what happens when they allow a mistake so they wouldn’t make it again.

Ky’ia opened the door and slipped in, clicking it shut gently behind them. Nyx stared at them from their bed, waiting for the hammer to fall. Nox had told them not to be a control freak. They could chill. They could let Ky’ia speak and accept the inevitable judgement.

Ky’ia stared at them and let that agonizing silence stretch out. Nyx still waited.

“I’ve lived this a lot of times,” Ky’ia finally said lowly. Here it came. “I know how this story ends. You desperately trying to hide me from how ugly it gets, you get. Me ignoring it until it’s too much. Then the fights. The broken plates. The tears. The scared children, if we get that far, if you want to carry my children, if you can. Then you getting ugly. Or you loving me too much to let that happen, and leaving in the middle of the night to leave me to pick up the pieces. Or sometimes your influence will be too much and I’ll be the one that gets ugly. I’ve seen it both ways. Some things cross cultures. They’re always the same.”

Nyx swallowed heavily. That was their fate. You didn’t need to look into the future to know. You just had to look into the past.

“But I’ve also seen it work,” Ky’ia said. Nyx looked up as confusion welled in their chest. “I’ve seen it work when you start viewing me as a partner, not a burden. When you don’t try to hide it. When I accept it, when I work with it. And when you’re willing to work with me. When you don’t expect me to be you, but trust me to not hide from you and how you are. I know what you’re feeling right now. I’ve seen it through your eyes. Maybe not in such extreme situations, but I know how you want to cry right now, but no one ever gave you permission. I’m not afraid of death. I told Chrollo to spare me because I was afraid of not living a life of my own. I want to make a story worthy of passing to my descendants. And I want you in my story. For as long as you want to go with me. I  _ choose _ you for my story.”

Ky’ia advanced, closer and closer, and Nyx tried to swallow the lump in their throat, but they only pushed up tears. Shuddering, they closed their laptop and set it aside as Ky’ia crawled onto the bed and enveloped them in a hug. Nyx couldn’t help it. They buried their face into Ky’ia’s shoulder.

They were crying. They were crying for the first time in six years, because for the first time in six years they realized they had all of the chances Nox had. A sob worked up and they let it out as Ky’ia pulled them even closer.

“Write my story with me,” Ky’ia whispered into their ear, and Nyx gave in. They finally gave in.

They had made an error. How unlike them. Ky’ia had surprised them.

Ky’ia wanted them. Someone as beautiful and wonderful as Ky’ia wanted them. Ky’ia pushed out their aura, soothing and cool, to comfort them and Nyx shook.

It felt nice.

  
They could add it to the list of things that felt nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: themorrowfam


	49. The Notepad and the Milkshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon and Nox have a conversation, and Feitan is given a hand in coming to a realization.

Nox was buzzing with energy. It was a pity they’d gone into the coma at night. Now they would have to make a 24 hour run, though that wasn’t entirely a problem. They’d sleep a decent four hours, maybe six if they and Nyx were lucky tomorrow. They would manage. Though Nyx may have a hell of a time sleeping tonight.

Perhaps they’d forgive them this time for having separated their Nen. If Ky’ia’s aura was any indication when they went up the stairs, there was definitely some shit going on that bedroom. Maybe it was enough to dislodge the stick from Nyx’s ass. They always got so huffy when Nox broke up their auras.

Then again, Nox got weird as shit when their auras were broken from this condition. They were going to be all over the place until they slept. They didn’t really know  _ why _ . They just did. No one had ever been able to figure it out. Hisoka was just as confused as Nyx. If anything, Nox should be in a murderous, bloodthirsty rampage, instead they were … doing this.

The “this” in question was creating a multi layered milkshake. It had taken them awhile to figure out how to balance the colors. The trick was pouring down the side of the glass. All vanilla, but in the colors of the sunset. For some reason the troupe had a large supply of food coloring that was completely unused, so there were now about seven milkshakes from the excess sitting on the counter.

Really, they should be eating actual food. Or, well, their food. They had been vomiting a few hours ago. But, whatever. The troupe shouldn’t have literally filled the freezer to the brim with ice cream and fireball if they didn’t want it to be used.

“Can I have a milkshake?” Gon was standing in the door. Nox blinked at him owlishly before they pushed the pale purple shake at him. Gon took it and sat down at the table. Nox’s instincts told them he’d been crying. Everything was insanely heightened right now.

He could have two milkshakes. Their own milkshake perfected, they topped it and a second milkshake, the orange one, off with some whipped cream and handed him the second. Gon squinted at them.

“Your aura is weird.”

Nox plopped down in the chair opposite him and stuck in a straw before sucking obnoxiously. Perfectly done. They’d applaud themselves if Gon wasn’t sitting right there. Instead, they set the milkshake down and signed.

“ _ It does that. _ ”

“Why is it red and black?”

“ _ I relieved some people of their Nen. _ ”

Gon blinked rapidly. Poor thing had probably never run into a Nen thief before.

“ _ They weren’t using it, _ ” Nox assured him. Gon narrowed his eyes at them.

“If they weren’t using it they were dead.”

“ _ Yes. Did you think Feitan ran off to go to a spa? _ ”

Gon blanched.

“Well, no, but…”

This poor child. Nox sighed and took another deep swig of their milkshake.

“ _ Death is inevitable, kid. Sometimes you gotta push it along. _ ” They didn’t want a moral debate with a fifteen year old right now. They wanted to drink this milkshake.

“Hisoka said you were sick.”

“ _ I was. I’m better now. _ ”

“You’re acting really weird for being better…” Gon looked over their shoulder at the plethora of milkshakes on the counter.

“ _ I get like this after a fight. Would you feel better about it if I told you they were literally horrible human beings? _ ”

“I’ve never killed a human being,” Gon muttered rebelliously and Nox rolled their eyes to the ceiling.

“ _ Chimera Ants are close enough. _ ”

“Yeah…” Gon agreed. He looked sad. Nox took pity on him again.

“ _ When someone is terrible sometimes they gotta die. Don’t feel bad about it. _ ”

“They don’t always have to die!” Gon insisted. Nox remembered Hisoka gleefully recounting what had happened on Greed Island.

“ _ Yeah. Not always. But sometimes people don’t deserve a chance at redemption and you gotta do what you gotta do. You’ll understand one day. _ ” Hopefully not too soon. Nox had come to appreciate his refreshing innocence despite the hell he’d been through. They’d learned to be happy for other people.

Gon studied them. He was a perceptive little shit. Nox kind of adored him in a weird way. Or maybe they were just feeling weird again.

“What happened to you?” He blurted. Nox blew another sigh out of their nose.

“ _ You gotta be more specific because I can give you some WILD answers. _ ”

“You’re not  _ that  _ much older than me, and I went through a lot, but you’re so … hard. Sometimes.”

Callused, he meant. Nox had known the question was coming. Gon had a lot of questions. He was trying to figure shit out, shit Nox had worked out a long time ago. That period between fifteen and eighteen was a weird time. Nox felt like it had passed in a blur. It was even weirder when you had the kind of trauma people like them endured. Though, Gon had a much smaller time being traumatized, but hey. Trauma was trauma and it fucking sucked.

“ _ I’m gonna give you some advice. Sometimes you get changed by your environment. And sometimes you get pissed off and decide to change it yourself. But either way, you end up changing. It’s just how it is. I chose to change my environment. We all did. And it fucked us up. You went through some shit. Not gonna argue that point. But your environment collapsed pretty quickly before it could do the kind of damage we chose to endure. Ours has been since we were 12. Or, 10. It’s weird to fit in the metaphor. Anyways. That’s why. _ ” That was a really half assed explanation. Well. They were lying a bit. Gon was still in his environment, he just didn’t know it. Family was weird and complicated and he likely was not going to work that shit out anytime soon. Unless that was why he had been crying. Who knew?

Oh, right. Chrollo had said something. They forgot. It must had been a nasty meltdown to warrant shepherd’s pie. Shepherd’s pie was strictly for crying  _ with  _ screaming and cocoa not working. Nox hadn’t had that kind of meltdown in years.

Poor kid. Nox couldn’t even be envious of him having a living father. Imagine your dad upsetting you so much you ran to Hisoka. Horrid.

Gon was staring at them. Nox wasn’t sure how this had happened, some random Hunter’s kid trying to figure out their family dynamics to therapize himself. They weren’t sure the Morrows were the model he should be using in this scenario. There were probably better models. Like, way better models. Hisoka was a nervous wreck, Nyx could not give up control long enough to just fucking cry, Nox was being courted by one of the most notorious mass murderers on the planet. There were way better families to look up to, but hey, good on Gon for using what was on hand, they guessed.

“Hisoka says he loves you two.”

“ _ Of course he does. No point lying in such close quarters. _ ”

“He thinks someone being weak shouldn’t matter,” Gon muttered, and oh, there was the reason for the meltdown. He finally realized he had a complex. Good for him.

“ _ Of course it doesn’t, _ ” Nox signed. “ _ Look at us. We’re the weakest fucks on the planet and we manage. _ ”

“I… I think you and I have very different definitions of weak.” Nox rolled their eyes to the ceiling, took a long and deliberate sip, and leaned forward.

“ _ I have literal mind-blowing meltdowns every week. I mean huge. Hisoka is literally so paranoid he made us design our independent hatsus specifically so Chrollo wouldn’t want to steal them on the off chance his crazy plan with Machi worked. Nyx is a control freak because they’re scared of not being able to keep us all together and sort of functioning. Our family is a mess. It doesn’t matter how battle ready we are, or how powerful our Nen is. You can have all the Nen in the world and still be a wreck because the more power you have, the more you realize how ultimately pointless it is because there will always be a moment where you might lose someone you can’t stand to lose. _ ”

They weren’t going to tell him. Hisoka had told the twins his assessment of Ging ages ago, during one of their quiet moments at home when he was discussing weak points of possible persona targets. Really, Hisoka should go pursue a psychology degree. He was excellent at that shit. Nox had learned a lot from him.

But, no. They weren’t going to tell Gon simply because with shit like that, you needed to connect the dots on your own. Gon knew everyone thought Ging was a terrible father. He fiercely believed he wasn’t, so telling him would only amount to another fit. Nah. Best to leave him a couple of clues, here and there, let him figure it out on his own.

“So you’re saying everyone is weak,” Gon said quietly.

“ _ I’m saying you’re only truly strong when you can accept the possibility of loss and choose to love someone anyways. Which contradicts literally everything I just said but hey. Whatever. _ ”

The door creaked open and Nox craned their head back at Feitan’s entrance. He had left them the coin. They’d slipped it onto their chain. It was resting low down on their chest, just above their diaphragm. It was a sweet gesture. Feitan was really being quite sweet lately. Like a milkshake. They should have made him a black one.

“ _ Hi, Feitan, _ ” they signed and he furrowed his brows. He knew hi. Nox hadn’t given him his name until they woke up.

An f, turned down and to the side so they could fold their fingers in and mimic a coin toss.

“What?”

“ _ F-e-i-t-a-n. Feitan. _ ”

On the other side of the table, Gon widened his eyes as he realized he had just witnessed an actual naming. It was sort of a big deal, to graduate from fingerspelling to a real name. Feitan looked between the two of them, confusion growing.

“You got a cool name!” Gon gasped. “They named you! That’s a big deal!”

Nox blew out their cheeks and leaned their chair onto its back legs to look at Feitan upside down. He was staring down at them like he’d seen a ghost. Nox had Gon here. They didn’t want to pull out the notebook. If they even had it. They weren’t sure. They didn’t even know what time it was.

“ _ Want a milkshake? _ ”

“They offered you a milkshake.” Gon was terrible at the translating thing.

“I …” Feitan seemed flustered. Nox couldn’t figure out why. Had they done something weirder in their sleep than the coin?

Feitan muttered something in his mother tongue. Nox should learn that. It was only polite.

Gon was looking between the two of them. How he had worked through one and a half milkshakes during that conversation was beyond Nox. He ate so much food.

Feitan and Gon locked eyes and something akin to realization dawned on Gon’s face, only to be met with a withering glare. How on earth was Gon more perceptive than Nox? They had no idea what was going on.

A hand landed on the back of the chair and pushed Nox forward so they were firmly back on all four legs.

“You will fall. Do not do that,” Feitan muttered and finally grabbed a milkshake.

Feitan was acting weird, but then again so was Nox.

Feitan reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad to slip in front of Nox. Oh. How very thoughtful of him to grab one.

Come to think of it, Nox wasn’t certain they  _ had  _ their notepad. Did they just think that? Anyways, it was extra thoughtful. The conversation with Gon had worn them out.

A pen joined the pad and Feitan set another glare on Gon, who swiftly finished his milkshake, politely put his glasses in the sink, and scooted out of the room. Nox wasn’t sure what was going on here, but they were willing to roll with it.

Feitan took the vacated seat and stared at Nox in silence. He was acting like Nox killed his dog or something. Nox stared right back and took another long sip of their milkshake. The silence pulled out.

“You kept coin,” Feitan finally said and Nox somehow managed to simultaneously lift and furrow their brows. The very expression transcended human language. Feitan kept staring at them, like he was trying to figure something out. Nox hoped he figured it out quickly. They needed to figure out what to do about the excess milkshakes. Brain freeze?

“I …” Feitan trailed off again. His aura denoted him being very worked up over something. “You trusted me?”

Nox wasn’t sure why they wanted to consider him their boyfriend. He was very stupid. They just nodded and finally finished off their milkshake.

“Why?” Nox squinted at him. Was he self conscious? That was kind of cute.

Wow, their thoughts were going everywhere. They flipped open the fresh notepad and started to scrawl their response.

**You kept letting me win when we sparred. ** Wasn’t it obvious?

Feitan squinted at it. He only looked more confused.

“Only sometimes. Some you actually won. I do not understand.”

Nox sighed. They were surrounded by idiots. Not even  _ he  _ knew?

**You have a hair trigger. And Pain Packer doesn’t matter in Zetsu. You can drop it instantly and the pain will still be there. Ergo, you knew you wouldn’t hurt me. Therefore, it was safe to spar with me so close to Chrollo’s house, which you didn’t want to wreck. ** Had that really been subconscious of him? Maybe Nox had put in too much faith, but wow.

Feitan stared at the pad with wide, startled eyes. So it really had been subconscious. Again, cute. Idiotic, but cute.

Nox put their chin in their hand and stared at him. Feitan lifted his gaze and stared back. So he really hadn’t realized. Somehow, that made it even better. A thought occurred to Nox as those dark, painfully dark gray eyes met theirs, and then grabbed the pad to write down their observations.

**You have beautiful eyes.**

Feitan stared at the pad blankly, looked back up at Nox, back down at the pad, and Nox realized he was at a loss for words. Cute. It was hilarious how worked up he got over this. Really, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It had been a logical conclusion to come to. Man with a dangerous, “fuck everyone, I don’t care if I kill even the closest people to me” hair trigger who  _ knows _ he has that hair trigger and a horrifyingly powerful ability that is specifically triggered by damage done to his body lets person beat the literal shit out of him? Clearly he wasn’t going to kill them. And given the circumstances, that meant he was also not going to let anyone else kill them. It was obvious.

Sometimes stupid and cute  _ are _ enough.

“I have killed people before for trusting me like that,” Feitan said lowly. Ordinarily, that would have freaked Nox out. Now, though? They couldn’t be bothered.

**You must not think I’m people then** , they replied casually and gave him a slow, lazy smile. Feitan’s eyes fell on their lips and his own parted, almost breathless.

“No. You are not people,” he agreed. “You are lovely.”

Finally, something that could make their brain short circuit, and it did. Nox blinked several times. Lovely? An odd descriptor.

They wanted to kiss him, but it seemed off. Not like this. Not yet.

**I think this is an important conversation for you, so we should revisit it when I’m not being … well.**

Feitan looked over their shoulder at the multitude of melting milkshakes on the counter. He looked a little pained at the sight. Nox had probably gone overboard, but, hey, it could be worse.

**In my defense** , they scrawled lazily,  **last time I decided to get into woodworking. With an entire tree. And a blowtorch.**

“I see. Is this something that normally happens after…” Feitan trailed off. If Nox didn’t know better, they could have sworn he was blushing.

**A mild Nen stealing coma? Yeah. Weird reaction. Hisoka says I should be on murder sprees.**

“No, makes sense,” Feitan replied. “People just do what really makes them happy. Just most Nen thieves like murder. You like … milkshakes.”

**Smoothies get old after awhile.**

“... You will not sleep for while. I can stay up.”

After the murderous weekend getaway, the coin, the shirt, the notepad, that was the singularly most romantic gesture he could have made.

**I wanna watch movies. Will you not critique every frame if I let you braid my hair?**

“Every other frame.”

**Do I have to throw in not falling asleep with wet hair for three days?**

“Four, and it is deal.”

**Deal.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this upcoming week is going to be so hectic with the holidays, I'm including an apology chapter and uploading my next chapter on Saturday. Have a safe week, everyone!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	50. The Heels and the Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Chrollo attend the gala
> 
> a/n based jenny on USD for like the entire fic and when it was corrected based on the sub, not dub I couldn't find all the places to fix it, and wanted it to remain consistent, so it's USD

Hisoka looked stunning. His tux was admittedly closer to a pantsuit, with fitted trousers that tapered sharply against his calves and ankles to accentuate the tall, deadly heels. Chrollo could not give less of a fuck that he was now even more significantly taller than him as he led his jester in a waltz across the floor. How could he? He was still on cloud nine after Hisoka,  _ Hisoka _ had initiated a kiss.

The stares and glares were only a bonus. There was a decided air in the room of, “oh look, Hisoka is being a fuck again.” Arguably, taking Chrollo Lucilfer, head of the Phantom Troupe, to a gala with almost entirely ring members was possibly the most Hisoka thing he could have possibly done.

With Chrollo’s presence, they weren’t going to get much out of anyone here. That was fine. Hisoka had rolled his eyes about the whole affair and told him it was always pointless to go to these things. Everyone was in “public” mode. No secrets wandered around this ballroom. The only reason Hisoka did, and it was rarely, was to keep up appearances and do things to make people uncomfortable for petty satisfaction.

Taking Chrollo was arguably the wildest thing Hisoka had done, though he had evidently once gone in a lavender dress, and that had offended almost everyone in the room. Hisoka referred to them all as “pretentious fucks”.

Events like these brought out the evidence of who exactly had given Nox that filthy mouth. Chrollo found it charming.

Chrollo spun Hisoka in a graceful circle and Hisoka leered down at him.

“It looks like you’ve riled some people up, Chrollo,” Hisoka purred. Chrollo had been worried about the mask slipping back on, but now that he was here in the moment, it felt like being in on a secret.

“I do tend to do that,” Chrollo agreed mildly. The song was coming to an end. Chrollo wasn’t a fan of dancing, but Hisoka had whined and demanded he let him “show him off”. It was almost hilarious, pretending to be in a relationship with someone whom he was actually already in a pseudo relationship with. The layers of deception were surprisingly addictive. He could see how Hisoka found small pleasure in it, though he did hate it for the most part.

Hisoka leaned down, his breath ghosting across Chrollo’s lips.

“We should  _ really _ rile them up.”

“Why can you never just behave?” Memories echoed, a secret shared between them, and a smile curled at Hisoka’s lips. A real one that turned very quickly into a dangerous one.

“Behaving is for  _ bores.  _ You wouldn’t want to bore me, would you?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Chrollo promised. The song came to an end and he offered Hisoka his arm to stroll off the floor. Hisoka leaned on him with all the practice of a trained escort, smiling lazily at the glares they were still receiving.

“I should warn you,” Hisoka said quietly as Chrollo retrieved the glasses of champagne, “there is a man here that desperately wants to be my daddy issues.”

Okay, that was not something they needed to be discussing here. Chrollo raised his eyebrow.

“And you didn’t think to tell me before…?”

Hisoka didn’t look ashamed. He had his mask on, and so instead Chrollo was treated to a teasing, cloyingly sweet smile.

“Well, it wouldn’t be  _ fun _ if you were ready,” he purred. Chrollo took a sip of his champagne, his eyes locked with Hisoka’s, waiting for a tell. There wasn’t one. So this was a rough subject. Noted.

Chrollo had tentatively earned his trust. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have his moments. He was still Hisoka. Besides, the twins had all the trust in the world, and Nox had flat out told him there were a multitude of subjects they didn’t discuss. This was one of them, apparently. Though this was arguably the  _ worst  _ way of handling it on Hisoka’s end, but it wasn’t like this was a real mission.

They were still most certainly discussing Hisoka pulling his shit again after this. At the very least Chrollo had learned that the kid gloves needed to be off.

So he treated Hisoka to his own charming smile and sipped at his own champagne.

“Me being ready, or you?”

That earned him a nasty glare. Chrollo didn’t activate his Gyo to see if it was real or not. Anyone could be watching. Besides, Hisoka maintained himself by blending the two, so it was likely both.

“You shouldn’t tease me so viciously,” Hisoka complained and took another sip of champagne. A woman was approaching them and he drained the full flute in one go. Chrollo looked over to take in her appearance. Tall, curvy, with perfectly curled brown hair and minimal makeup. There was some work done on her face, so he tentatively placed her in her mid thirties. He could tell from the slinky dress that she was muscular in a way more consistent with some athletic performer.

Hisoka knew her. Chrollo waited for her to finally come to a stop in front of them. Fake, fake smile, but then again everyone here was fake. Chrollo was about to get a headache from the excess of perfumes and cologne.

“Soka,” she purred. “Why didn’t you come find me? I’m hurt.”

“That was the idea, darling.” Hisoka had his own purr. So there was a certain level of animosity, likely fake and real. Noted. Chrollo contented himself with witnessing a verbal sparring session.

A bright, tinkling, rehearsed laugh escaped her lips and she picked up two fresh champagne glasses and offered one to Hisoka. Begrudgingly, he took it.

“You didn’t tell us you got a boyfriend. Why didn’t you bring him home to meet us?” Her lecherous gaze swept up and down Chrollo, and he regretted, for the briefest instant, Hisoka convincing him to wear his hair loose. Chrollo did not like to rely on sexual prowess except with Hisoka, and that was because he  _ actually _ wanted him in his bed.

“Mm. You know how Alexandre gets when I have new friends,” Hisoka replied, and pulled Chrollo in a little closer. It almost shocked Chrollo. That was not in character. Hisoka of the mask was a free lover type, and that was possessive.

“Yes, well you do pick the types that would set him off,” she remarked wryly. Types? Chrollo was a type? She stuck out her free hand. “Chrollo Lucilfer, correct? Maylee.”

Chrollo took it graciously and treated her to his best dazzling smile.

“A pleasure, Hisoka’s sure,” he said sweetly. He knew Hisoka was internally rolling his eyes at that dig. “I don’t believe he’s mentioned you.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t,” she replied airily. She had an extremely strong grip, and Chrollo felt her aura now that he could reach out and touch. Powerful, but from the way her eyes drifted down, she knew she was outclassed. Good. She knew her place. They released their grips.

“After all,” she continued and Hisoka actually rolled his eyes, “he’s so ashamed of us.”

“I never said that,” Hisoka purred. “I just don’t like you, specifically.”

Very open of him. Chrollo wondered what kind of history was there that led to that. At least with whatever it was Hisoka could openly express disdain without breaking character.

“Those are some very cute heels,” she commented in a very specific tone, and it clicked. Oh. That was a dig.

There were a lot of sexually perverted people here. Hisoka, however, openly embraced femininity. Even without wearing his paint right now, he had his eyeliner and rouge and lipstick. His brows were filled in. He was wearing contour. He had on eyeshadow. It had taken him nearly an hour to get his face on. He wasn’t sexually perverted like these fucks. He was openly and proudly bisexual.

She was the homophobic variety of “don’t put it in my face and act like a woman, but I’m cool with those bears over there”.

Chrollo had honestly forgotten those sort of people existed. No one in his troupe was like that. They couldn’t be bothered to care enough about how someone else liked to fuck, or what kind of pronouns someone said you needed to use. Actually, come to think of it, he wasn’t sure there was a single cisgendered heterosexual person among his Spiders. Not even Nobunaga struck him as the sort. Franklin…? Oh, no, Franklin had several boyfriends in the past. Pakunoda had been bisexual herself.

“They are, aren’t they?” Chrollo cut in. “They cost me a few thousand. Where did you get yours?”

By a few thousand, he meant about 7,000 jenny, but hey, if Hisoka wanted to wear heels to a gala, Chrollo wasn’t going to let him go in a set of heels he’d worn before. Maybe regular shoes, but not heels. In any case, it gave him a chance to dig at her, and make sure she knew whose presence she was in.

Maylee narrowed her eyes at him, and Chrollo stared right back. Did she really think she could make a dig like that at  _ his  _ fake maybe not boyfriend and get away with it? Right in front of his face? Really? What was wrong with these people? No manners in sight. And no self preservation whatsoever.

There was a course in the aura pressed right up against Chrollo and he belatedly realized he had definitely turned Hisoka on. Was that really all he had to do this entire time? Buy him 7,000 jenny heels and then not let some woman he knew make homophobic remarks? Chrollo had really been going about this the wrong way.

“So you’re the sugar daddy, not the boyfriend,” she said flatly, with some degree of distaste.

“Maylee, darling,” Hisoka said, cutting his way back in, “have you still not gotten a boyfriend? Maybe then you’d understand the pleasure in being spoiled on occasion. But, then again, you’d have to have taste. Tragic.”

Chrollo really hated they were here right now, because he wanted to laugh. He hadn’t really actually laughed in awhile. A pity.

“I see you’re as crude as ever.” She was fighting a losing battle here.

“I thought it was fairly eloquent,” Chrollo commented mildly and forcefully caught her gaze, made it clear. If they weren’t here, in this ballroom, surrounded by all these people, she would be dead right now. Semi mission be damned. She could think of it as her invading his territory, whatever, but he wasn’t about to put up with it.

She stared right back, and then smirked. Like she knew something he didn’t. And then she turned and walked off.

She was lucky he knew exactly what it was. It bought her a few more months. Had he not known, it would have been enough to kill her later.

“Well,” Hisoka said and took a sip of his champagne, “that was refreshing. You don’t have to be so threatening, dear. I could have had more fun.”

“I’d rather command your attention,” Chrollo replied.

“Promise to be as much fun?”

“I’ll be better.”

Hisoka hummed and lazily smiled at him, fluttered his eyelashes. Chrollo would have to take him on an actual date after all of this. When it was over.

“I assume by ‘us’, she meant the circus?” He asked.

“Mmm. Meeting them here is sufficient. There’s enough champagne to tolerate their presence.”

Chrollo raised his eyebrows. That wasn’t a falsity. Hisoka really didn’t like them, enough that he couldn’t be damned to keep his mask up. Granted, unless you knew him like Chrollo was privileged to know him, you couldn’t tell the difference.

“How many are here?” Chrollo had never been to a circus. He was certainly not going to recognize the performers.

“Mmm … About seven. Six of them hate me. One of them has a nasty thief ability.” Was that the other one Nox had mentioned?

“I assume the one who wants to be your daddy issues is one of them?”

“That would be the seventh.”

“I’m surprised a circus member could act like that.”

“There’s a difference in stage makeup and actually not being ashamed of who you are,” Hisoka murmured. “Some things are simply everywhere.”

Chrollo was silent. He really had forgotten. What a horrid oversight on his end.

Hisoka straightened again. Chrollo followed his gaze, and then blinked several times.

Illumi Zoldyck was here. And people had been so rude as to complain about Chrollo. He was in the corner, speaking softly to some tall man in a tuxedo. Lean. Older, perhaps in his sixties, with hair done in a remarkably similar way to Hisoka’s. A broad face, both with work done and a likely expensive routine. His brows had been surgically arched to an almost excessive amount.

Hisoka wasn’t focused on Illumi. He was focused on the man, and Chrollo placed that unforgettable face. He was in photos on the twins’ crime network, or whatever that was that had driven him out of his own study. Ringley Circus. The Ringmaster, Alexandre Ringley.

The daddy issues. He was certain he was the daddy issues.

“I see he decided to surprise me in a new way,” Hisoka muttered.

“I’m sorry?” Here he went again, leaving out information, expecting everyone to just know. Chrollo had thought he stopped that.

“Come along. He thinks Illumi is my ex,” Hisoka said with a sigh, prompting another level to Chrollo’s confusion.

“Why would he think Illumi Zoldyck is your ex?” Chrollo did not tolerate competition.

“Because everyone thinks we’re dating, and Alexandre has enough contacts to know when Illumi had a family crisis I disappeared on him, and then I went and disappeared again for a month, which is massively out of character for me, so whatever it was, which was us falling into a relationship, was likely something that was unsavory, which would be correct, we have been  _ very _ unsavory, and Alexandre does like to set me off my guard when I have been badly behaved.”

The blend of the truth and falsities for any prying ears was expertly handled. Now everyone was going to think he and Hisoka had a month long sex marathon. Chrollo was not opposed to that notion. Though with as imaginative as sex could get, a month was still a bit long. He personally would break it up with multiple thefts. Maybe sex in the middle of the thefts to keep the streak.

He probably shouldn’t consider that so carefully right now. He was about to meet Hisoka’s pedophilic fake father. Hisoka tugged him along and Chrollo strolled along lazily.

“I wouldn’t think you’d be so excited for me to meet your father,” he said casually as Hisoka gave him another slight tug.

“I would prefer to just get it over with quickly so we can leave,” Hisoka muttered.

“So soon?”

“I always leave these things early. They’re boring. I can’t do much except make people marginally uncomfortable. Most of the people here are useless, anyways.”

Double truths. Always the double truths. He was too good at it.

“I know you’re not badmouthing my friends again, Soka.” Chrollo hadn’t even realized they were within earshot of Alexandre.

Hisoka gave him a beaming smile and pulled Chrollo in close. Chrollo got the distinct impression he was meant to be playing the boyfriend the dad would never approve of here.

Well. At least he didn’t have to play.

“If you got more interesting friends, Papa, I wouldn’t have to,” Hisoka replied. “Alexandre, Chrollo, Chrollo, Alexandre. Illumi, you already know Chrollo.”

Chrollo gave Alexandre a deliberately fake smile.

“It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Chrollo,” Alexandre said and extended a hand.

Chrollo shook it. Well then. That was a frightening amount of Nen beneath his surface. Hisoka had not mentioned that, though he hadn’t really mentioned anything. He had most certainly not mentioned how Alexandre’s Nen reeked of nothing but pure evil. Yes, Chrollo was awful, he knew he was awful, and he knew what his Ren did to people. But this? Where Chrollo felt like an icy, barren landscape, promising a slow and lonely death, Alexandre’s felt like the fires of hell, threatening an eternity of nothing but agony.

Alexandre and Chrollo locked eyes and Chrollo got the distinct impression that this was meant to be a dick measuring contest. Or perhaps a gauge of Chrollo’s strength, or even a competition to see who was objectively more evil.

He was interested in none of these options, and very deliberately disentangled his hand to make that known. The only person in this room he was remotely interested in proving himself to was standing next to him in killer heels. And he already had. All of this posturing and preening was exhausting. Verbal sparring matches, Nen flares, intimidation techniques, the entire air of judgement. He was tired. He should have never let Nox talk him into this. There wasn’t even anything to steal here.

Illumi was staring at him. His eyes were always so flat. Worse than Chrollo’s. Chrollo could ignore that for right now.

“Illumi and I were just talking about how you vanished this past month,” Alexandre said and smiled, broad. “You know, I don’t know why you never introduced us. He’s quite charming.”

Chrollo got the impression that he was at a family dinner where everyone kept bringing up the ex. This was excruciating. Who could describe Illumi Zoldyck as charming?

“Why would I introduce you to someone I never dated?” So Hisoka was exhausted, too. If Illumi was capable of making facial expressions, Chrollo was certain he would betray his irritation.

For now Illumi was probably trying to figure out why Kalluto had lied to him. Kalluto was, objectively, a good little Zoldyck. They told Illumi precisely what he wanted to know, when he wanted to know it. Had Illumi known Hisoka was with Chrollo, he would have never bothered to come to this obnoxious show. At least this proved that Kalluto was marginally loyal to the troupe. Hisoka wasn’t threatening the Zoldycks, so they didn’t have to prioritize their loyalties. Maybe Chrollo would lift the banishment in time for them to at least get to watch the fireworks. They were obsessive about watching stronger Nen users work. They wanted to soak in as much knowledge as possible. The little sponge of his troupe.

But, no, now they had to deal with Illumi. Hisoka was already scheming. Chrollo could see it in his sharp eyes.

They could play it off as embarrassment. After all, no younger sibling would want to tell their older brother that the object of his obsession, which could easily be seen as a crush to a twelve year old, was fucking all over the place. But even pretending that Kalluto had known they were engaged in sexual acts was kind of, actually no, extremely disgusting. That just was not how this could go. Chrollo had  _ some _ sensibilities. He would never fuck with a minor in the house.

He couldn’t accept his youngest troupe member getting in trouble with their very deadly and very sadistic family.

He needed to focus back in on the conversation. Hisoka was talking to Alexandre. Something about him calling him Papa grated Chrollo’s nerves.

“You know, Soka,” Alexandre said. There was something deeply grating about his smooth voice. “You should come home. Start learning the business.”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t,” Hisoka replied. He was tight. He looked loose and lithe, but he was pulled so tight Chrollo worried he’d snapped. “After all, there’s so many people out in the world that want to kill me. I should give them all a chance before I give you all a second round.”

“No one hates you,” Alexandre rumbled and Hisoka just cocked an eyebrow.

“You should clarify with Maylee about that observation.”

“You shouldn’t bait her.”

“I bait  _ everyone.  _ She shouldn’t play with fire if she doesn’t want to get burned.”

“You could at least come home for Christmas.”

It all sounded very domestic. It made the understanding of what Hisoka was actually doing at the circus that much more painful.

“Holidays? Please.”

“Speaking of presents,” Alexandre said, and for some reason a stone dropped into Chrollo’s gut, “I decided your little game was too close to home, so my boys are tying up a neat little gift for you to play with once they’re done.”

What little game?

Whatever it was, Hisoka’s Nen shifted drastically. He tried to hide it, but it got Chrollo’s attention, and Illumi’s.

“Why must you play with my toys, Papa?” Hisoka’s voice was too smooth for a teasing statement.

“Why must you lead your toys to my law firm?”

Realization cracked in on Chrollo. The law firm. Nyx’s mission that had been compromised. Hisoka said he had done damage control. This must be the damage control backfiring.

“You always ruin my fun.” Hisoka was about to snap.

“You always find new ways to make me punish you.” Alexandre smiled at Hisoka, slow and low. There was something insidious in that smile.

“Hisoka,” Chrollo said, low and slow as he physically slowed his own heart rate to keep his voice from betraying his thoughts. “We need to go. We have that thing, remember?”

Alexandre raised his eyebrows.

“I hope you aren’t stealing from my friends again, Soka.”

“Only the ones you don’t like,” Hisoka said sweetly. So sweet. Sickly, poisonously sweet. He was going to try to kill him right here and now if Chrollo didn’t get him out. “But Chrollo is right. We have a bit of an errand to run, before Maylee decides to finally try and take my head off.”

Alexandre smiled tightly. He didn’t like it, how easily Chrollo was leading him away. He was possessive. That was too damn bad.

“Have fun.”

Foregoing the appropriate pleasantries he didn’t care to do normally, Chrollo grabbed Hisoka’s hand and led him out the doors, down the stairs, and onto the sidewalk.

The second they climbed into the car, Hisoka’s Nen flared, murderous, bloodthirsty, deadly as he pulled out his phone and started texting.

“Are you okay?” Chrollo asked softly and the Nen flared even higher.

“Just drive,” Hisoka snarled. He was sending text after text after text to a group chat. A single text came back from Nyx.

**Nox went for a ride to keep the battery fresh. We’ve been seen in town separately, but I don’t think we’ve been linked to the manor. Tho if they’re stalking us they may think we’re Spiders.**

Hisoka hadn’t been seen in town for over a week, but now with his proximity to Chrollo they may think he had gotten them into the Spiders.

**They may kill everyone in sight. I don’t recall Alexandre having any powerful users on hand that can take on Noooiiii**

Hisoka stared at the text. Chrollo stared at him. He was shaking. Shaking, shaking, shaking as his Nen swelled to mammoth proportions.

“Hisoka …”

“I’m going to kill him,” Hisoka said softly. Chrollo could barely hear it over the engine. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip his heart straight from his chest. I’m going to rip it out, and I’m going to eat it.”

This sort of thing would normally excite Chrollo. It would set him off. But Hisoka’s Nen, as overwhelmingly bloodthirsty and ugly and horrific as it was, was drowning in mourning. Not guilt. Not loss. Mourning. He didn’t believe that he was going to get them back alive.

They pulled to a stop at a red light. Chrollo checked the rearview mirror. He was positive Illumi was following them. They would cross that bridge when they came to it.

Chrollo gently reached out and grabbed Hisoka’s chin to force him to look at him. Beautiful yellow eyes were welling with tears.

“I’ll serve it to you on a silver platter,” he promised. “When they come home safe, because they will come home, safe and sound, I will serve it to you dripping on a silver platter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that there is a cliffhanger. Sorry!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	51. The Tongue and the Surgeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox wakes up underground.
> 
> TW for torture (no gore) and them being triggered in a nonsexual manner. Summary at the bottom.

Nox awoke with a soft groan. Their head was ringing painfully. Something had happened. What had happened?

They had gone for a ride. It had been awhile since they hopped on their motorcycle and they wanted to make sure the battery wasn’t going dead. It had been a bit of a long one. They had a lot to think about. The whole thing with Feitan. The fact that they were almost positive Nyx had actually cried. Chrollo and Hisoka changing their dance from a frantic tango to something more soft, tentative, unsure. The fact that Klaus had texted them to ask why Machi was at Hyban and then said nothing else.

They had been at a gas station. They remembered that. A truck pulled up next to them. It had been following them for awhile. They had taken their helmet off so they could see the numbers on the pump. And then there had been a flash of Nen, too fast to respond to, blinding pain, and … black.

Nox could feel dried blood all down their forehead. Had they been out that long? How much damage was done?

They felt sluggish. Nen was all over them, but they seemed to have none of it. Someone had put a sleeping hatsu on them?

Their eyes were crusted shut with blood. They couldn’t move their arms. There were heavy straps on their wrists, thighs, legs. They were laying down.

They didn’t move. They couldn’t crane their head to rub the blood off.

Their sense of smell was shot. There was too much blood over their nose. Head injuries were the worst about blood. But hey, they weren’t dead, so that meant Nyx wasn’t dead. Point for the twins.

There was a fan blowing. An AC unit, actually, blowing all across their body, keeping them so cold their fingers were numb. They were missing their shirt. Their bra was in place, though. Their pants were … Yep, gone, too. They still had their boyshorts. Nox couldn’t remember which ones they were wearing. They hoped it wasn’t the jungle one with the cool printed thick band. Those were their favorite. They didn’t want them to get ruined.

In the distance, water was dripping. Nox parted their lips slightly, inhaled a deep breath of air, and let it sit so they could get their few tastebuds to get a taste. It tasted like they were underground, or somewhere wet. It was the rainy season. It could be a temperate zone. They likely weren’t taken very far. After all, they had been a ways away from the manor, maybe two hours. Far enough to hold them semi securely.

Hisoka could worry about how Nox had been found out, what to do, how much was suspected, if they were about to scatter. Right now, Nox’s sole priority needed to be keeping them and Nyx alive.

From their lack of clothing and the lack of Nen, they were being prepped for torture. Otherwise there would just be a bullet in their brain. With the hatsu folded securely around them, they were alerted to the fact that Nox was awake.

Their pelvis ached. Hopefully Nyx would double up the meds for them.

They couldn’t risk trying to escape right now. Someone could walk in at any moment, and Nox didn’t know how these straps worked. They needed to endure the first cycle, wait until they were left alone, and then escape.

Nox rotated their eyes under the crust of dried blood, trying to break it up and off. It didn’t work. There was too much.

Their head hurt like a bitch, too. At least it had actually coagulated. For once their body was behaving. Though, on second thought…

Nox rocked their head back and forth, scrunched up their forehead. Ah. Yeah. A round of stitches right along their hairline. Sorry, Nyx.

So they didn’t want them dead yet. They had likely noticed the bleeding wouldn’t stop and deduced they were on some kind of medication or had a condition that made it difficult to coagulate. They could have at least cleaned them up while they were at it. Rude.

There were footsteps coming to the door. It sounded like they were falling on metal flooring. Underground was becoming a more and more viable option.

A door hissed open. Not old and run down. It sounded like it was on a hydraulic spring.

“Awake then?” A soft spoken man. Those were always the worst.

Nox exhaled. Their hair was going to be so matted after this shit. Why did they have to inconvenience them so much?

The footsteps drew near and a cool, wet cloth touched down on their face. If they could narrow their eyes, they would. Waterboarding or cleaning them up?

The cloth scrubbed over their crusted eyes. So clean up to start. Thoughtful of him.

The blinked their eyes open and squinted as bright lights assaulted them. It seemed hospitals and torture chambers had something in common: inconvenient light placement. A shadow broke through the bright beam and a man peeked down at them. Bright blue eyes, a slightly crooked nose, impeccably groomed carrot red hair, a spray of freckles across his nose, a lab coat, green dress shirt. Was this a hospital or did he have a complex?

He stared rather creepily into their eyes and then let out a shaky, breathy, pleasured sigh. Oh. Yeah, definitely a complex.

“Alexandre always gives me the best patients,” he sighed and Nox grimaced. Gross. He reached down, ran his hands over their jaw, their nose, worked down their neck and shoulders. They resisted the urge to try to squirm away.

“Are you feeling any pain?” He asked and Nox just stared at him. They had a bad feeling about this. He frowned at their lack of response. “Any pre existing conditions? Maintenance medications?”

Nox just kept staring at him and he laughed brightly as if he heard the greatest joke.

“Of course you have one of those. Your blood wasn’t coagulating when you got here. I was very upset with Mariella. She’s so harsh with my patients.”

Mariella. The Emitter. Too fast to dodge, most times. Of course it had been her. Nox hated her.

And with Alexandre …

When did Alexandre get the pull to request her? This must be related to the law firm. Hisoka had handled it, but … Alexandre must be in one of his moods again. Goddammit.

At least they weren’t compromised or …

Oh, shit. They forgot. He was at the gala. Where Alexandre was. Well, fuck. Hopefully Chrollo had kept him from blowing his lid. Hisoka could keep it together. So long as he trusted Nox to get out, but this was the first time this had happened, and … Maybe not.

Hands were back on them and they screwed their face up in irritation. Gloved hands squeezed at their sides, worked their way down, checking for internal damage, maybe.

And then they landed on their very sore and very painful pelvis. Nox couldn’t help it. A whimper slipped out. The man looked up and then poked again. They barely resisted the urge to make a sound.

“Is your pelvis hurt?”

Nox didn’t reply and he straightened up with a huff.

“You are not a good patient, Miss Morrow.” That earned him a glare. He continued on, anyways. “So what is your name? Nox? Nyx? Sol? I’m told you have quite a few. You are quite underdeveloped for your age. You must eat terribly.”

Excuse him, Hisoka balanced their diet as much as he could. They had regular blood work and everything. They just tended to have an iron deficiency and were slightly anemic when they missed their supplements, thank you kindly.

“Or…” He prodded at their arms and poked at their finely toned stomach. “Hm. Your muscle is underdeveloped but perfectly toned. And your breasts … They should not be that small, genetics or not. That is very odd. Like puberty didn’t work.”

Was this the torture part? It was working.

He loomed over them again, inspecting their face once more.

“You must be on puberty blockers. I’ll have to mark it as a pre existing condition.”

Nox just blinked up at him and raised their eyebrows. Get on with it, then.

“I’m sorry, I’d love to get started, but I like to know my patients first. It makes it easier. If you would talk to me we can rush this along.”

Nox was not about to reveal that they couldn’t.

He almost looked like he was about to pout. Good. Was this probably going to earn them more pain? Yeah. Would it be worth it? Absolutely. Sorry, Nyx. They would do the same, anyways. Cooperation was not an option.

He sighed, long and dramatic. If Nox could, they would absolutely headbutt him.

“I guess we do it your way,” he said, as if he was very put upon.

Forced in Zetsu, they couldn’t see what he was doing. But he spread out his fingers in a way Nox had felt they’d seen before.

“I was very surprised when they brought you in,” he said conversationally as he brought up a stool to sit next to them. “I’ve never gotten to operate on a Nen thief before.”

Wait. Operate? Back up.

“My dad always said good doctors explain what they’re going to do before they do it.” Sad, melancholy eyes swept up to meet Nox’s increasingly concerned gaze. “I call this Surgeon Stitch, for him. You see,” his fingers moved and a pinprick of pain hit Nox’s side, and then another, and then he mimicked tying a string, “I make a stitch in your side. Or your arm. Or your leg. Or your face. And then I pull it tight and cut it.” He pulled on something Nox couldn’t see, and pain like a branding expanded across their side, white hot and burning where the stitch sat. They bit back a scream. Not now. They could hold out for awhile. “Oh, that’s impressive. Most people scream very quickly. How long can you last, I wonder?”

He did it again. Nox widened their eyes, breathed in and out of their nose. Not yet.

And then he did it again. Nox lived with pain everyday, all day. They had spent the past six years sleep deprived from pain. They could cope with pain. Pain was a fact of their life.

“It only lasts for an hour,” he continued as he put another in. Their entire abdomen felt like it was on fire. They kept breathing. When it passed a moderately bad day that actually left them in bed, then they would. He was at three. Playing games had always kept Nox sane. They could do six. “I wonder … Are you used to pain? Most people aren’t.”

The fourth one went in and Nox finally gave in and let out a tiny whimper. It was agonizing, but they could do this. They could sleep with a broken pelvis, consistently. Not many people could do that. This was easy.

The surgeon tilted his head and stopped to poke at their pelvis again. Another whimper escaped them. On a cold metal table, with their Zetsu locked, it was an okay day without Nen. Not a good day. They’d had mostly good days these past three or so months. But it was an okay day.

“Is it broken?” He looked delighted. If they could, they’d punch him in the face. He pushed his finger more firmly into their skin, moved it around to feel bone shift. “Oh, that needs pins. Why don’t you have them? You walk. I can tell from your musculature. Do you use Nen instead?”

Nox fought the urge to give him another whimper, to squirm. They were only making this more satisfying for him when they inevitably broke. They knew. They knew, but they still had their pride.

He moved it around a bit more and they finally bit their lip.

“I bet I could just do this and eventually get you to cry,” he said triumphantly at the sight of their lip stuck between their teeth. Nox stared up at the ceiling. One more. And then the one after, they’d let themselves scream, and then scream at twelve. “You must be very used to it. I’m going to need a lot of stitches.”

The fifth one went in and they squeezed their eyes shut. At least Nyx wouldn’t have to deal with blood loss. They hated blood loss.

“This is going to be fun,” he declared brightly. “We’re going to have fun.”

Fuck you. Nox wanted to sign so badly.

The pain was growing. It felt like their organs were liquifying in their gut. It was fine. It was fine. Just a moderately bad day. Maybe Nyx didn’t even feel it.

They definitely felt it. Sharing pain was partially Nen. They’d feel a Nen attack like this. Nox wanted to cry. This was on both of them. Nyx had gotten tailed, Nox had gone off on their own. Nyx’s first real mistake. Of course the consequences had to be so dire they would be too terrified to ever make another mistake again, and Nox would be stuck as the fuckup.

They were hurting Nyx. They were making them feel this agony. They were hurting them.

He wasn’t asking Nox questions. Nox was a chew toy. There would be a bullet for their brain after this, and there the real pain was. They were going to kill Nyx, because of their own stupid mistake. Nyx was going to die with Nox, and Nox was now faced with the one thing Nyx refused to acknowledge: Nox didn’t want the responsibility.

The sixth stitch went in and Nox finally let it out. They arched their shoulders off the table and screamed. Their entire innards felt like they’d been liquified and flash frozen and liquified again. It wasn’t a moderately bad day. It was a Bad Day, and it was only going to get worse.

The surgeon froze. He caught it. Oh, well. Abruptly, he stood and leaned over them to pry their mouth open. Nox fought against him, but he was surprisingly strong, and evidently used to dealing with “unruly patients”. A vinyl glove reached in to prod at the dead stump that couldn’t feel much of anything with fascination.

“Perfectly cauterized…” He murmured and wrenched Nox’s jaw open even wider, forcing it into a painful ache. Nyx could feel this now. They could feel their most painful memory get violated. They could feel a very, very familiar pain and couldn’t tell if it was one or the other. Nox didn’t want to share this with them. A demanding finger shoved the stump around, testing its flexibility, how far it moved one way or the other, if it could move on its own.

Nox couldn’t help it. They screamed, struggled against him as panic rose up. All these years later, they couldn’t help it. After fingers came … Stop. They had to stop.

“If you would stay still, I can complete your examination,” he snapped. “You bore through my stitches and you’re throwing a fit over me holding your mouth open.”

Nox gargled up a warning growl and he frowned at them severely, as if they were an unruly child. If he didn’t  _ stop _ it would be Jun again when they got out. They didn’t want another Jun.

Satisfied with his examination and the state of the scar tissue, he withdrew his fingers and let them snap their mouth shut. Their chest heaved as they tried to slow their heartbeat. Calm down. Calm down. He’s too much of a weirdo to do anything. He probably doesn’t even know what sex  _ is. _

They couldn’t stop. They were hyper aware of the pain now, hyper aware of the straps on their arms and legs, hyper aware of how their legs were spread just enough for …

Stop. Stop it. They pictured birds outside a window. A flock of geese, flying south for the winter, beating their wings against a northwest wind. They could almost hear their honks.

He was waiting, arms crossed like a disappointed teacher. Nox forced their heartbeat to slow. It would be fine. He wasn’t going to do it again. He got what he wanted.

“You can’t speak to me. This is a problem.”

Nox could not see how it was a problem. He was a sadist. Screams could keep him happy.

“I’m not happy until they beg.”

Oh, for fucks sake …

“You’ll just have to learn,” he decided and Nox couldn’t help it. They let out a long, tired, sigh. Yeah, sure, that was going to work.

“Let’s start again,” he said and Nox let out a long breath. This was fine. It was all very fine. They weren’t going to lose it, no matter how much pain he put them through. They were going to get out of here quickly, efficiently, without excess violence, and get home to make sure Nyx was okay.

Home. When had they started thinking of the manor as home?

He pulled up the stool and positioned himself to continue his line of stitches Nox couldn’t see but could feel so, so painfully.

“You seem to be very stubborn and very high strung,” he said conversationally. “So I should warn you. I will go until I decide I want a break, and then I will come back when they fade, and we will start again. And the longer I go, the more you will need to recover. My record is six hours. I’m sure you can help me break it.” His fingers started moving and Nox squeezed their eyes shut tightly. “The pain may fade after an hour, but it will sap your strength for much longer.”

One stitch, two stitch, three stitch. Nox trembled, which earned them a warning slap to their stomach.

“Alexandre has given you to me for a week. I can kill you, if you’re a bad patient. I wonder how much strength you have in you. I’ve never managed to kill someone before.”

He pulled tight and Nox let out a low moan. That earned them a benevolent smile.

“I think a week is enough to see if I can change that.”

Something ugly settled in Nox’s chest and there was an ominous feeling of a nail driving into a coffin.

No. No, he wasn’t going to kill Nyx. And he wasn’t going to kill Nox. It was fairly simple.

An utter sense of apathy overcame them and they decided that no, they were going to have a well deserved meltdown, and they were going to kill everything in sight.

The apathy was driven to the back of their mind as a scream ripped itself from their throat. But it stayed. It was going to be there when Nox needed it. Just like their crows. They were always going to be right there, right where they belonged.

They weren’t going to die like this. To the grave in a blaze of glory, the Morrows had promised each other. To. The. Grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! I added another chapter to the other fic in preparation for Christmas, so go look if you want some Morrow fluff. I hope you all are having a good start to the holidays! Blessed be!
> 
> Summary: Nox wakes up in some kind of underground facility, sealed in Zetsu by straps anchoring them to a table. They meet their torturer, who uses surgeon Nen stitches to put his victims through incredible amounts of pain (no blood). At one point he wrenches their mouth open to examine their stump tongue, which triggers them, and they resolve to kill every single person in the facility.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	52. The Screams and the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka has a conversation with Feitan while Nyx deals with the consequences of actions.

_ Nyx was sitting at the kitchen table, enveloped in a too large hoodie and Nox’s custom booty shorts that read “God won’t let me die” in bold letters across the ass. Their right leg was cocked, free leg swinging as their socks slipped down their calves. Before them was their laptop with their classwork open. _

_ Nox was gone on their first independent mission. Nyx had a test due and couldn’t join them. _

_ Nyx was far more relaxed about the whole ordeal than Hisoka. Nox thought they were grown, but had all of the worst qualities of the sixteen year old that they were. Impatient. Bold. Aggressive. Jumped from point A to point Q without a thought of any of the letters in between. Nyx could get them to apply some brakes, but Nox by themselves? _

_ Oh, yeah, Hisoka was nervous. This was going to blow up in his face. _

_ Nyx was listening to some crooning love song as they worked. Trig was a breeze for them. They’d be done with the test very soon. Hisoka only hoped Nox had enough sense to not interrupt. Likely not. _

_ Maybe he was too worried. They should be wrapping up, if they hadn’t already. It was just like them to forget to text and let everyone know they were heading home. Hisoka took advantage of the silence to pad from the kitchen to the table and look over Nyx’s shoulder at their work. _

_ “Your chain rule is out of order.” _

_ “ _ Shut up. It’s a test. You aren’t supposed to help. _ ” _

_ “Rules are made to be broken.” _

_ “ _ And I’m breaking the chain rule. _ ” They backtracked and fixed it. Hisoka ruffled their hair and went to put on the kettle. _

_ There was a plop. It wasn’t from the sink. Hisoka froze and turned around as Nyx frowned and gingerly touched their forehead. There was a cut there. Not deep, but bad enough to make Hisoka worry. Then again, he always worried. _

_ “Nyx,” Hisoka asked lowly. “Did you do that?” _

_ Nyx shook their head no and pulled away bloody fingers. A frown hit their lips, and then they shrugged. They viewed it as an inconvenience. A simple inconvenience. _

_ Hisoka viewed it as terrifying as a single realization hit him. _

_ This is what it would look like. This is what it would look like to be helpless. Was he helpless right now? He didn’t know. He didn’t have a single clue. Was Nox okay? Were they compromised? Had they been taken? Was Nyx going to die right here, in front of him? Was he about to lose the only people he’d ever loved? _

_ Another plop of blood on the keyboard and Nyx dabbed it up, sucked it off their fingers. Red. It was so red. Hisoka was frozen in place. He couldn’t recall how to breathe, how to speak. Red ice, all over his body. _

_ Nyx’s phone buzzed and they picked it up to read the text before passing the phone over their head and holding it out for Hisoka to read. They were unfazed. Must be nice. _

** _Soz. Got in a bar fight. Glass had a death wish to execute on my forehead. My b._ **

_ Relief crashed in. They were okay. Nothing was wrong. Just stupid Nox, doing stupid, impulsive shit. That relief was very quickly followed by irritation as Hisoka started typing on impulse. _

** _Why are you in a bar? You’re 16. Get home NOW._ **

** _Hey Hisoka. Life takes you strange places. Be home in a couple hours. Gtggggg_ **

** _Life is about to stick you to a tree for four hours. Get OUT of that bar._ **

** _Aw me and that tree are buds now that’s not a punishment. Do better._ **

_ They had no idea. Hisoka wanted to slide to the floor as the full realization hit him. Nyx was pressing a paper towel to their forehead, entirely unbothered by the cut as they finished the last few questions. They didn’t know, either, that this was what it would look like an instant before Hisoka’s world came crashing down. _

_ His heart was hammering. He hadn’t fully realized until now, four years later, how much power he’d given them. He had felt fear before, on a surface level. He’d been worried before. Nothing compared to that bare few moments before that text. Nothing at all. _

_ He was going to kill Nox for slipping into a bar. Their  _ first  _ time out and this was the shit they pulled. In other circumstances, he’d be proud, but the fear was too paralyzing. _

_ They were only sixteen. _

_ That was too young to die. _

Hisoka’s mind was swimming in memories. That was the only way he could function right now. Drifting close to home, drifting away from the reality right in front of him. Another card sliced through the air and firmly stuck itself in the wall. He was on his third deck now. He could technically just pull them all back, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to see how many gum strands he could handle right now. The record was five hundred, though he didn’t have enough decks on hand for that. Yet.

He’d been banished from the bedroom two hours after the screams started, once Nyx was satisfied with his understanding that they weren’t bleeding, but irritated enough with his hovering that they couldn’t handle him watching anymore.

Another card whistled through the air and bit into the drywall.

Chrollo was smart to leave him be.

Shalnark was texting him updates every ten minutes. Hisoka read every one without a reply. At least he was polite enough to leave on read receipts.

Through the occasional screams and moans and whimpers behind that wooden door, all he could remember was that single plop, that bloody towel, the way he pressed on that band aid with more ginger care than he had ever shown them previously. The pungent antibiotic ointment. The 98% on the test shining back at him, the quiet sense of pride that Nyx had done so well with a nasty cut on their head. The way Nyx’s soft hair felt when he ruffled it a second time. How elated and unrepentant Nox had been once they got home and made sure Nyx wasn’t mad at them. The idiot hadn’t even bothered to clean up. Their punishment had been figuring out how to clean a motorcycle helmet. He had never loved them more than when they grinned up at him boldly, dried blood all down their face, immensely proud that they had started a bar fight on their very first visit. They were so proud. And they were so little, so fragile, so easy to hurt. So easy to lose.

He loved them both, so much it hurt.

Hisoka had quietly carried it for a week. And then he’d sealed the memory away. Put it to rest.

That had been a practice round. This was real.

Another scream ripped through the tense silence and the card between his fingers was released with far too much force. The drywall crumbled around where it bit.

He should look for Nox, but his attention could get them killed. And if the twins were dying, he wasn’t going to let them die alone. He could definitely be with Nyx. Nox was out of reach, out of his grasp, too far away from his protection.

He hated himself for it.

The screams grated him. They hurt, hurt so deeply it felt like his heart was being slowly, deliberately,  _ purposefully  _ pulled from his chest.

Alexandre had taken. And taken. And taken. He’d taken Hisoka from his home. He’d stripped away his innocence, formed him into a cash cow, he’d taken his dignity, his childhood, his sense of self. Words alone could not encompass the kind of violation that had been done to Hisoka. It still triggered his gag reflex. He still couldn’t say the words, age 26.

And now he had taken the home Hisoka had clawed out of a cliff with bloody broken nails in a desperate attempt to prove that Alexandre hadn’t taken his power to gain.

They didn’t say Alexandre’s name in his house. The same way they didn’t say Annabelle. Trask. The twins had needed to save someone like Hisoka had saved them. That had been taken from them.

Hisoka was almost glad. Not for their sorrow, but so they never had to experience this.

He wanted to cry. He’d been wanting to cry a lot this past month. All of these people knew his past now, and he had to explain and explain and explain things the twins just  _ knew _ .

Another scream. Another card. He couldn’t bring himself to count each one. The cards were keeping track for him.

A quiet sob and a low groan.

He hated the door between them. He wanted to break it down, shred it to pieces, but Nyx had wanted him out. It was probably horrible enough for them that they were feeling this and invading the violation Nox was feeling right now. Hisoka didn’t need to watch, too.

And that was the crux of the matter. None of them talked about sharing pain, but he knew. Nox secretly wanted out. They’d never say it, never breathe it. The last time Hisoka brought it up had spurned a week long fight. It had gotten ugly, with Nyx more furious with Nox for not involving themselves than with Hisoka for starting it. Hisoka had known then. He’d ended the fight the second he figured it out.

Nox hated it. And Nyx knew on some subliminal level that they did. And Nox wouldn’t talk about it, so Nyx couldn’t talk about it. Or Nox couldn’t talk about it because Nyx wouldn’t let them.

Hisoka didn’t want to think about that right now.

Scream.

Card.

An approaching presence. Feitan should know better than to come here. Ky’ia did.

Feitan came to a stop next to him and stared down at him.

“You are not inside?”

“They didn’t want me to see.”

“Dangerous.”

“It’s some kind of Nen ability. They aren’t bleeding. No bruises except on their wrists. No contusions. Nothing I can help with.” Helpless. He was helpless. All this power, and what could he do?

Feitan sunk to the floor next to him.

Scream.

Card.

“Auras are more intimidating when you care.”

“How very kind of you to notice.”

Scream.

Card.

They were coming in closer increments. Either the torturer was working faster, or Nyx was flagging. Nox would be flagging, too, then.

It had been six hours and forty seven minutes now. Impressive stamina. When Hisoka found out their identity, they’d have to use all that stamina to try to stay alive. It would be pointless. Alexandre would be next, then the ring, and then Hisoka could finally rest.

“I taught them to read,” Hisoka finally said. He needed to say it. He didn’t care if it was to Feitan. “When I found them. They could only read the Gemini cuneiform fluently. English they only knew a little of. I taught them to read, and then we learned to sign together.”

Why did it  _ hurt? _

“Nyx was actually terrible at it. Signing. Nox was better. Languages come naturally to them. You know, on Nox’s first mission by themselves, they started a bar fight? They didn’t even clean up. They just came back into the house with blood all down their face, grinning. They were so proud. And I kind of was, too, even if I was pissed.”

Scream.

Card.

“I taught them how to ride bikes. Taught them how to walk again. Taught them how to make the perfect cup of tea. How to balance a skincare routine. How to put on makeup. I taught Nox how to dye Nyx’s hair properly. I taught them ballet so they could translate it to fighting like I did. Nyx loved it. Nox hated it. I put bandaids on skinned knees and elbows. Woke up early every day so I could get ready before I got them out of bed. Kept a planner of their appointments so they wouldn’t miss them. Wrote down every dietary requirement, every way to fill in the gaps. I had to help them bathe, when they couldn’t walk. I learned how to make tres leches cake when I found out it was what they used to have for every birthday. Learned about the best watercolors, color pencils, pens, brushes, learned about what houseplants had the best needs for Nyx’s lifestyle. I can name all of them. Sword fern. Money plant. Fiddle leaf fig. Devil’s ivy. Beach spider lily. Coral berry. I learned how to do trigonometry so I could help them with their homework. Learned about English literature. Tropes. Archetypes. I needed to be perfect for them, and I tried. I never stopped trying. But all of that just taught me that I would never know how to do this.”

Tears were pricking at his eyes. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“When you can say you raised someone, people don’t understand what that means. You can’t, until you do it yourself. I wanted them to take me up on my offer. I wanted to set them up in a house on the beach, far away from all of this shit. I wanted them to back out, every day, every moment, because I knew I was never going to learn how to do this. Because love … love is too small a word to explain it. It’s not enough.”

Scream.

Card.

Silence.

Feitan was silent. Hisoka hated him for it, because he knew Feitan understood he couldn’t possibly understand, and he respected him for it. Empathized, even. Hisoka hated him deeply.

“You did not learn,” Feitan finally agreed. “But they did. Because you taught them.”

Hisoka didn’t look at him. The silence was stretching on. He was terrified of turning that handle, peeking in, seeing what greeted him. Their aura was still there. He couldn’t help but sit, watch, unable to look away. If he blinked, it could fade, and he wouldn’t see them go.

“You cannot see because you are too close. But Nox will survive.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. They are not someone who can be stopped by something so mediocre as death. How could they be? They are Nox Morrow.” The Morrow was intentional. Hisoka knew it was intentional. It felt like an echo of something someone else had said once, another declaration of a tentative love.

Love.

Hisoka felt a little hysterical as he was able, no, pushed far enough to set aside his petty protectiveness. Of course Nox was Nox enough to instill some kind of faith in Feitan. Of course they were. And, as Chrollo said, faith so easily led to love. Ridiculous.

“We made a promise once,” Hisoka whispered. It was a promise they never spoke of, too intimate to share with anyone outside of their little circle. Not even Klaus knew. “To the grave in a blaze of glory. The three of us.”

Feitan joined him in staring at the door.

“Nox would not break such a promise.”

“You saw their hatsu, didn’t you?”

Feitan didn’t reply. In this circumstance, he didn’t want to lie, but he also couldn’t tell the truth. They had likely made him promise. Hisoka sighed and learned his head back against the wall.

“I hate that blasted hatsu,” he admitted quietly. “It’s just a reminder that they need more than what all of this can give them. What I can give them.”

“People.” Yeah. He’d seen it.

“People understanding,” Hisoka corrected. “It’s why they like you.”

“I do not understand.”

Hisoka let his eyes slip shut. Feitan was as obtuse as they came.

“The first night they spent with you. Myoto. What happened that led to that?”

“...” Feitan didn’t want to share. That was fine. Good on him for respecting boundaries or whatever.

“I’ll tell you what happened, because I know Nox. They cried. They were stressed out, suffering from blood loss, had about a million and one reminders that they were ‘different’, like that matters, you did something that showed some degree of care, and just like that you had them wrapped around your finger. Because that’s all they want. Someone to not get them, but at least try.” And now they’re being tortured slowly, painfully, somewhere Hisoka couldn’t reach. Simple little Nox with simple, innocent needs they hadn’t forgotten in all of the hell they’d been through, and he couldn’t reach them. He had failed them both. He shouldn’t have given them the choice. “If anything, the fact that you had to overcome a language barrier probably endears you to them. Because you’re like them. Except other people have to overcome theirs. But ultimately they’ll wake up and realize those are auxiliary things in your attraction to them, and accept what they’re fighting: you like them because they’re deadly. And it’ll break their heart.”

“No,” Feitan said shortly, almost venomously, and Hisoka raised a brow.

“No?”

“No,” Feitan confirmed. “Deadly is good, but Nox is … Nox.” Eloquent as always.

“Then why do you like them?”

Feitan stared at the door. He refused to look at Hisoka. Hisoka just waited. The sooner he could poke holes in the explanation, the sooner Feitan would leave them alone, and the less pain Nox would experience. When they came back. They were going to come home. One way or another.

“Because even if I kill them, I can never kill memory,” Feitan said finally, softly, so softly. “Memory that I wanted to be someone they deserve, not them be someone who must deserve me.”

Hisoka was too tired to feel something over that. He felt like a wind up toy pushed past its breaking point. At another time, he may feel a little sympathetic. Right now?

“You will never be someone they deserve.”

Feitan didn’t seem upset at the reply, just accepting.

“Like Nyx said. Must try.”

When had he spoken to Nyx? Hisoka was slacking.

There was a giggle behind the door that grabbed Hisoka’s attention. Feitan could have said he fucked Nox and Hisoka wouldn’t have noticed. Was that ... ?

The giggle grew. It swelled in volume, spilling out, breaking with a cough, and then came back after a three second pause at full strength. A deranged cackle that had Hisoka springing to his feet and crashing through the door, privacy be damned.

Nyx was in a sports bra and shorts eerily similar to the shorts they had worn the night of the bar fight. They were sweaty, over tense, spread out across the bed as bruises, massive black and blue bruises, blossomed across their body. They were in hysterics. Hisoka didn’t blame them. He wanted to laugh himself and revel in what was about to happen to those that dared to lay a single finger on his family.

Black Symphony. Nox was ready to conduct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late upload the past weekend was a lot. Also my apologies for the amount of cliffhangers I promise we'll get past them soon!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	53. The Fingers and The Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for gore and amputation skip to the end for a summary

There was a snap. The pain of snapping their thumb back into place wasn’t even registered as it blended with their stitches. Their entire body was on fire. In the fifteen minutes before he left, Arthur, his name was, had put two stitches each on their shins, their thighs, their sides, their biceps, their forearms, their palms, their throat, and the soles of their feet. They didn’t have time to worry about that. They had to press on.

Pain was something they were accustomed to. They never complained. They got up almost every morning. They never let the work lay around untouched, even when they were stuck in bed. They took their exact prescribed amount of pills. Some days they skipped the more physical work, but they always. Kept. Going. Even when Hisoka told them both to slow down, to use the wheelchairs for once, to take it easy. It didn’t matter. They always kept going.

That prepared them for this. Their feet touched the ground and they bit back their scream. It was agonizing.

That was fine.

Their Nen was tightly pulled in against their body, throbbing with their heartbeat. Their stolen Nen was still there. They didn’t know how long it had been since they were brought here, but it was starting to feel a little fragile, so maybe five or six days since Gorten. That was fine. They could work with what they had.

Nox never slowed down. Nyx let things go, moved fluidly, never overdid it, but Nox was Nox and Nyx was Nyx.

With as exhausted as their body was, they would need the excess. And besides, the stolen Nen gave them the sort of resolve their own Nen just didn’t.

Because right now, their normal Nen would demand a slaughter. This had been an attempt to hurt Hisoka, though it had hurt far more than Alexandre had thought it would. This was another punishment, another excuse to control, to cajole. And despite their lack of knowledge, they had hurt Nyx. They had hurt Nyx rather badly. And they had hurt Nox.

Nox didn’t care to consider logic and reason. Hisoka had always told them to think logically. His mask, their ignorance, this, that.

Nox didn’t fucking care.

Alexandre was going to learn right here, right now, that Hisoka would not be controlled.

Their Nen would give them a slaughter. But they wanted a bloodbath.

The door was locked. That was a laughable effort.

Nox brought their heels together, lifted their arms to conduct, and let the music flow.

They didn’t feel the pain as their crows ripped out of their body. Glowing with black and red fire, out came Ri, Gin, Rum, Lurk, Murk, Angel, August, September, Jelly, Tin, Kaz, Paz, Taz, Yin, Yang, Fey. All thirties and forties. That was all they could muster. They would conjure more as they ripped this place to shreds.

The wall exploded outwards and Nox took two steps forward. It hurt. It hurt, but the power coursing through them was enough to ignore it. Their crows circled protectively around them as the bruises set in. Nyx was probably elated right now. Good. They could have that, for the moment.

It looked like a ring of fire surrounding them as they limped down the hall. They remembered Jun so clearly in this state. How people had screamed that they were a monster. How the Nen had made their eyes glow under their curly bangs. How they had smashed and smashed and barely noticed the pain, the injuries, the panic.

They wanted to notice it all today. They were in a mood.

Their jaw still ached.

Alarms were ringing in the background as their bare feet padded down cool metal floors. How could have things gone if they had this power before? It didn’t matter. They now had the power to destroy, to raze it to the ground, and they were going to use it.

There was a presence approaching and Nox lifted their head slowly, steadily, to look at their first enemy. A man. A guard, perhaps. Very little Nen. He wasn’t even a snack.

Jelly cut through the air and he exploded. In a breath, too fast to follow, she circled around and rejoined the murder. Nox raised their arms, felt the silent music course through their veins, their slow and steady heart providing the throbbing beat, and unleashed their hellish retribution.

It was a blur after that. More and more power filled Nox, more and more power was sunk into summoning. A quiet, warning voice in the back of their mind was the only thing that kept them from summoning Axis and Chloe. They heeded it. Forty eight crows were summoned, forty eight instruments of destruction, and Ri remained where he was meant to be: on their shoulder, grounding them, keeping them from taking it further.

Nox just felt the power flow through them. They didn’t need all their birds. They just wanted them. All of them, here, with them, saving them, keeping them safe, carrying them through. Their birds, who watched beyond the veil, who waited, who loved without condition, killed without questioning. Their birds who Nox had a _ choice _ in sharing their life with, their birds who gave Nox a choice.

It was a symphony. Nox barely even noticed when they started walking through blood. They didn’t flinch when it sprayed across their body, soaked their underwear, painted black and blue skin, seeped into long black hair. They just kept on, imagined the screams and pleas and whimpers and moans as the arrangement to flow with the beat.

They weren’t people. They were the instruments their crows used to create the melody.

Taz had found him. It was a pity. Sadistic people should always make sure they had combat capabilities, but his sutures were useless against a non human conjured creature that couldn’t feel pain. Nox had spared them that in their creation, given them a sense of taste instead. They wanted them to have what they lacked, and live in ignorance of what they had. Their birds were filtering into the room, keeping him from escaping, watching, waiting, staring at him with eyes on fire.

All of their instruments had fallen silent. It was only Arthur left. Poor thing. So young. So talented. He shouldn’t have opened their mouth.

Nox came into the room. A scalpel was hanging loosely in their grasp. They didn’t remember grabbing it. He stared at them. They stared back.

And then he smiled.

“Are you angry?”

Nox held up the scalpel, stared at their reflection through streaks of blood. They would normally let the birds handle it. They could handle it. Getting close to him would be dangerous. He had a lot of Nen to eat. They should eat it. But… 

They didn’t need to tell them. Gin and Rum, their most perceptive crows, swept forward, bowled him over, pinned him to the ground with his arms spread with their feet. Nox walked forward, feeling lightheaded. The pain was a dull background noise now.

They sat down on him, right on his crotch, their powerful thighs pinning him in place, and stared at the scalpel again. He simply stared up at them, smiling.

Death didn’t bother him. Nox stared down at him. They wanted to make this personal.

“You’re so powerful and so helpless. You can’t even say why you’re mad,” he said. He sounded sympathetic. Nox tilted their head. The blood dripping off of them soaked his shirt. “It’s beautiful…”

Taz understood. She swept off, down the hall, and Nox leaned forward to brace themselves over him. He thought they were a child. Not because of their youth, but because of what they couldn’t do. Perhaps they should illustrate how easy it was to lose something. Something that gave you power.

Nox reached out and pushed down his left hand. The scalpel was brandished.

He wanted to understand pain? Perhaps he should understand no one was better qualified than Nox to teach.

They cut down. A garbled moan worked up and he bucked his hips as he finally realized what they were doing. His severed thumb rolled along the ground and they kept going.

He lasted to the middle finger before he screamed. Impressive.

Nox ignored him anyways. Fey and Jelly pinned his legs. Before long his entire hand was a bloody, messy stump. They wouldn’t stop there. In a panic, he tried to buck them off, and they reached down to place a bloody finger on his lips. He’d make this messier than need be.

Nox was impulsive. They were messy. They were objectively all over the place all of the time. But there was a reason Hisoka had added in the methodical aspect to his Nen personality test. When they started a job, they didn’t stop until they were done.

He had wrenched their mouth open. Maybe he didn’t know what it symbolized. Nox didn’t care. His power was going to be stripped away. He would be useless to Alexandre. He would be unable to make his sutures. They were going to show him just how easy it was to ruin someone.

After all, they were an expert.

“Does this make you feel better?” He snarled. Finally. Finally he was showing it. “Do you feel vindicated?”

Nox turned their head, letting their sopping wet hair sway and smack him in the face. Their eyes met, and he realized in that moment that they didn’t _ need _ to speak.

They didn’t care. It wasn’t about feeling better. It was just because they _ wanted _ to. He was their chew toy, and they had a far worse bite than him.

The scalpel crunched through flesh and tendon to take off his second thumb and he writhed in a scream. The next finger, and the next, all the way until they stopped at his very last pinky. That they left. Until he broke and took it off himself in a fit of rage, it would taunt him, torment him.

Taz arrived and dropped the blowtorch on his chest. Nox sat back, turned it on, and met his eyes just over the flame.

He finally got it.

“You’re not going to kill me,” he breathed out. He thought they were drawing it out.

Poor thing.

Like Nox had thought, they were giving him a lecture. All that power, and yet he was little more than an amatuer in the art of true torment.

How sweet.

The screams reached a beautiful crescendo as Nox cauterized each stump, burned and burned with expert precision as he thrashed about.

Perhaps he would figure out a new hatsu to come after them later. Maybe he could earn his death then. They were rooting for him.

The blowtorch clicked off. He went limp, panting, sweaty. Drifting.

Nox stood, studied the blowtorch, and ultimately tossed it aside to rifle through the storage cabinet. A tranquilizer was pulled out and they found the needles. They were very good at administering shots. They did it to themselves all the time for their puberty blockers.

Flicking at the needle, Nox came back and crouched down next to him, slapped at his arm to find the vein, and met his eyes as they pushed it in.

He was never going to forget this. Maybe he’d learn to not play with fire.

They deployed the plunger. He held on longer than expected, struggling to say something as the drug took hold, but it was ultimately pointless as he mouthed words Nox didn’t care to translate.

No one was safe from speechlessness. He’d better remember that.

They could keep going. They could do it. The power was running through their veins, but Chrollo’s voice echoed in the back of their mind.

They’d made the choice not to.

They had already gone too far. Staring down at Arthur, they knew they should have killed him. They knew they’d done worse. You didn’t always need to seal someone’s Nen. It was inefficient, could be reversed if someone was stubborn enough. Taking their hatsu but not their Nen, though? That was ensuring their torment. Because they would always be close, so close, tasting it on the tip of their tongue, but never able to gain what they lost. Any new hatsu would never fill the hole in their chest. It would ultimately only be an additional reminder.

They could kill him now. He was helpless. Truly helpless. Nox had never accepted helplessness. They acknowledged their limitations and kept moving. He would never figure out how to do that.

They could kill him. No one would miss him.

Their eyes fell on bloody, burned hands and their heart hardened.

No, they weren’t going to kill him. He would see it as a gift. That alone was an insult to everything Nox was.

They reached down and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Would Hisoka know? Would he find out?

Nox imagined him walking in on this bloody spectacle. Imagined him seeing Arthur laying on the floor, seeing what they had done. He wouldn’t pass it off. He would understand immediately. He would _ know. _

He didn’t need to know. Maybe he’d eventually find out. But he didn’t need to know right now. He already knew what they were doing to Nyx, the point they were driving home … No, they wouldn’t think about that right now. Not now.

Nyx needed to sit in it. And Hisoka did not need to see.

A number they had memorized over the past month sprang up in their mind and they punched it in automatically.

**It’s Nox. Bring me my meds. Don’t tell anyone.**

It was a newer phone with a location sharing feature. Nox sent their location and rose to walk out the door. Their crows fell into formation around them. They could maintain them until he got here.

They felt the pain then, the agonizing throb they had been pushing back, pushing away, the way it sapped away at their physical strength, and they fell down at the center of the wide room with bodies scattered all around. They were in a puddle of blood. That was fine.

Feitan was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Nox breaks out of their bondage and lets loose their second hatsu, Black Symphony, where they supercharge their crows and let them rip from their body, letting massive bruises spread across their body. They proceed to slaughter everyone in the facility and cut off the torturer, Arthur's, fingers before cauterizing them with a blowtorch and knocking him out with a sedative. The chapter ends with them texting Feitan to come get them, not wanting Hisoka or Nyx to see the carnage or what they had done to Arthur.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It was a lot of fun and work to write, so I hope I got it right.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	54. The Curdled Blood and The Lonely Surgeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan finds Nox and Arthur, causing a plethora of confusing feelings for him.

Feitan knew this smell. It was a smell you could never truly chase out of your nostrils. Hot blood, left to curdle underground like cheese, sealed in behind a thick metal door, recycled through air ducts over and over again. There was only one thing he had ever seen in nature like it. A rare mushroom left to rot.

It smelled like metal and sugar and something unlike anything else. Sweet, too sweet to breathe. He loved this scent, but it worried him deeply down here.

Automatic lights kicked on as he made his way down the stairs. People had run for the exit and been dragged back along the hall. Escape was denied. Feitan just walked through the blood trails, unbothered by the very real leftover vestiges of what Nox had done. It was understandable. Feitan had heard about these places. A few had tried to recruit him, but he just couldn’t be bothered.

If you wanted someone tortured, for information, for punishment, or just because, these facilities provided the professionals. Many had Nen abilities specifically for the job. There were five in total. He hadn’t realized there was one so close to the manor. A mere four hours away. Two, if you were driving like Feitan.

He almost pitied them. This was exactly why he couldn’t be bothered. The business had struck him as extremely pretentious and unprepared for what would happen when they took someone like … Well. Like Nox. Torture, he had learned, either destroyed someone’s power, or pulled out the biggest explosion one could muster. Nox was of the variety of an explosion. They didn’t let anyone kick them when they were down. They ripped off their legs and shoved their feet down their throat. No one could ever be truly prepared for Nox.

If you hit a Morrow, they stood back up and hit back ten times harder. Perhaps that’s why the troupe liked them. Perhaps that was why Feitan liked Nox.

They weren’t going to take this transgression laying down.

Not a soul was left alive. Feitan tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled past the guards, the staff, the broken and torn and twisted bodies. The ones with heads left had their eyes pecked out. The crows were hungry, apparently.

He didn’t particularly need to look to find Nox. There was a deep and malignant aura on the facility, thrumming with power, pain, pleasure. He could feel the regret being repressed, the exhaustion, the vengeance, the apathy. Nox really was someone who could feel everything at once.

Why they had insisted he come alone was beyond him. This was no worse than what they had done in Gorten. It just looked bad because the bodies were compressed in a small underground facility. Surely Hisoka wouldn’t lose it over this. Perhaps they just legitimately needed space.

The closer he got, the more their aura became crushing. A condition requiring actual bodily harm to the user tended to bring out the highest levels of Nen. A lot of their conditions required sacrifice. Most of their Nen was theirs, but a lot of it was born out of the conditional sacrifice. Instituting sacrifice by nature amplified Nen. Nen was funny that way. It liked it. And then there was the addition of them being a Gemini. The Gemini clan had a long history of sacrifice for power, and that had wiggled its way into their very genetic makeup. Most sacrificial Gemini users in history had been excessively powerful, before they secluded themselves from the world, lost their power enough to become easy pickings for Uvogin. And Nox? They had clearly done a lot of bodily harm, if Nyx’s body was any indication. It made him wonder if Nyx dealt that level of harm to Nox for their secondary hatsu. Likely. The only thing the two did in halves was share genetics.

They were close. The bodies were beginning to pile up. The facility sloped downwards, and now Feitan was slugging his way through puddles of blood.

He rounded a corner and there they were.

The first thing Feitan noticed was how small they were. Small and fragile, like a wrecking ball made of blown glass. They were knelt on the ground, head down, hair hiding their face. Utterly drenched from head to toe in blood, dressed in nothing more than their undergarments. Maintaining their hatsu for the two hours it had taken for him to get here had drained them. There were no injuries on them beyond the bruises. There was a scalpel in their grasp, though he couldn’t see why they would need it, given the second thing he noticed.

Their crows. Forty nine, perhaps forty eight, he estimated. Ri was on their shoulder, where he seemed to think he belonged. Or perhaps he did belong there. The rest had gathered in the room to peck at the bodies, feeding Nox blood to keep their master, no, parent, awake and functioning. The murder was on fire with Nen. Black and red aura poured off of them. Their eyes glowed. They looked like they had been summoned from hell itself. Had the circumstances been different, he might have gotten giddy at this “Black Symphony”. The crows were entirely different than the first time he had seen them. They radiated power, bloodlust, craving, protectiveness that almost overwhelmed him.

Every bird watched him as he approached. He didn’t try to hide his aura. He let it pour off of him. Nox had said they were intelligent. They were intelligent enough to recognize him, and intelligent enough to not trust him if he hid himself. Ri gave him a low caw as he drew near, warning, telling him to think about his next moves carefully.

“Nox,” Feitan said softly. They lifted their head, and there he noticed the third thing.

Their eyes were empty.

That was fine. They had done this before. They would bounce back, just like Nyx said they always did, and Nyx was more of an expert on Nox than Feitan. They just needed a hot shower and rest. All they really needed, wanted, was for Feitan to not look at them with pity. They were sick of pity.

He couldn’t pity this. This was the kind of reaction that was warranted. This was the kind of power lesser men craved but could never achieve because they didn’t have the guts to do it. He was actually kind of …

No.

He wouldn’t say it.

Their acknowledgement achieved, he stripped off his coat and approached. They tensed, but Ri recognized what he was doing. In a blur of black, the bird hopped from Nox’s shoulder to Feitan’s so he could drape the coat around them and coax in their arms. They were half naked. They probably didn’t like that. He could wash the coat later.

“Do you want to go home?” He asked softly. They had asked for their meds for a reason, so he was certain that was a no.

They shook their head no. He had no idea where he’d take them. They could figure that out later. First priority was getting them out of this stench.

Why wouldn’t they want to go home? Surely that would stress Hisoka and Nyx out more. They didn’t want that. Nox didn’t strike him as the type to be selfish with their family. If anything, they were far too selfless.

There was a flicker of Nen, a presence at the door at the opposite end of the massive room, and before Feitan could move to dispatch it Nox clamped down on his arm with force he  _ knew _ they possessed but didn’t really  _ know _ they could use. Feitan froze as confusion welled up.

The door swung open to a young man, perhaps a little older than Chrollo, with bloody red hair and blue eyes fighting away the telltale signs of drugging. He was dressed in a lab coat, and his presence prompted Feitan to notice multiple things at once.

The first thing he noticed was that this man had his crotch stained with blood. Not like his genitals had been sliced off. Feitan knew what that looked like. He’d done it plenty of times. No, he looked like someone drenched in blood had straddled him. Someone like the person preventing him from killing him. Jealousy surged, pushing Feitan into a murderous rage, until he noticed the second thing.

The man had no fingers except one lone pinky. Specifically, he had no fingers because in the last few hours, someone had meticulously cut each one off and burnt what was left to stop the bleeding. Someone like the person preventing him from killing him.

The third thing Feitan noticed was his flickering aura. Or, more specifically, what his aura was saying. Pain, horror, loss, a deep loss on such a fundamental level it went beyond his fingers. Terror, too. Abject terror directed at this fragile little thing knelt before Feitan, wrapped in his coat, demanding he let this man live. Not at Feitan, Feitan Portor, with his Nen rising up in a murderous rage that would send anyone screaming in terror. No, not him. He was looking at Feitan’s fragile little Nox.

And the fourth, final thing Feitan noticed was how Nox’s own aura had shifted to something deeply, deeply ugly. So ugly it was beautiful. Something that made his heart swell in his chest as he connected the dots.

Nox understood.

Nox had the same understanding of torture Feitan did.

You take what means too much to lose. You break them. Shatter them. You watch that will to live drain away and then, only then, do you kill them. It wasn’t as simple as doling out pain. Not when you had a grudge. Mere pain was for amateurs.

And they were requesting he let them take a step further. No, not requesting. Demanding.

They had taken his hatsu. Feitan saw that, knew it, the moment his eyes locked back on that lone pinky. An eternal taunt to mock him until he snapped and took it off himself.

That feeling he had beaten back down rose up and a sadistic smile twitched at his lips.

Pride. He saw an equal.

He wouldn’t push them here. He wouldn’t encourage it. Their eyes were too empty. But they had read him before he got here, the moment they texted him, all over again. They knew him better than he knew himself.

They’d known he’d quietly accept them for it. Take that piece of them and push it back into the puzzle. When they got pushed here again, he’d be on the other side. And he wouldn’t push them here, and they knew it. Because he had split the coin. Because he had let them win.

Brilliant, brilliant little wrecking ball.

Feitan crouched down and ignored the man. Instead, he swept Nox up, let their head rest on his free shoulder, and just like that, the moment they pressed into his warmth, their crows faded away. Onto the floor clattered something. A chain, with an opal set to look like a moon, and a split coin.

Ri swept down and snatched it up. Nox must not have been present enough to care to put it back on. Ri landed back on his shoulder, dropped it into a carefully spread hand. Feitan decided to read into Ri’s usage of his shoulder as a roost later.

“You’re Feitan Portor,” the man said. His voice was hoarse from screaming. Feitan felt a flicker of pride. Because the man was terrified, too terrified to run. Frozen in place even as Nox drifted between consciousness and a dream, too vulnerable, too tired to hurt him more. He was still terrified. They had done that, and he found that he was a little in love.

Even when Nox was weak, tired, vulnerable, needing Feitan to protect them, the damage they wreaked was everlasting.

They were a beautiful, ethereal angel of death, and they had captured him.

“Yes.”

“Then kill me.”

Feitan ignored him in favor of pressing a deliberate kiss to Nox’s temple. Partially because he wanted to, partially to see the very touch of a smile in response, partially to make things very clear for this man: Nox was his. And he wasn’t going to kill him. Because Nox was his, and Nox had done perhaps even a better job than Feitan could manage. Because Nox was in charge.

“Kill me,” the man repeated, insistent, pleading. They had most certainly sealed his hatsu. Very efficiently.

Feitan looked back up at him finally, his eyes burning with crazed glee, pride, resolve, rage. He had touched his wrecking ball, his tiny crow, his little moon. And now he dared ask for mercy. Mercy Nox had not granted, and because of that, neither would Feitan.

“No.”

He couldn’t do anything. All of that aura, and he couldn’t even manage a punch. Tragic. Feitan turned, held them closer, made for the exit.

He didn’t follow. Feitan left him to rot in the scent of recycled blood and the bodies of his comrades. He had bigger concerns on his mind. Namely, where he was going to take Nox. His absence and the disappearance of Nox’s meds were noticed by now. Nyx was in no shape to track him, and Shalnark wouldn’t. The Morrows were not the troupe, and as fond as they were, loyalty trumped loyalty. Though, with the knowledge of Hisoka’s teachings, it was likely he could manage it. Feitan needed to dump his phone after sending a reassurance that Nox was fine, just needed to rest.

He had almost come onto common ground with Hisoka. It was a pity that would be ruined now. That was fine. In Hisoka’s eyes, no one short of a person like Ky’ia could deserve the twins. Shame. He’d never learn that what he wanted wasn’t what Nox needed.

Perhaps his time with Chrollo would temper that.

Feitan had already somehow reached the car. There was a city a little ways away from here. He could get them a hotel. It was by the sea. Nox may like that.

Ri was still on his shoulder. Feitan looked over at him, unsure of what to do about this problem.

“You are still here.”

One beady eye stared at him. The Nen fire had died. He looked like a regular crow now, but the power compacted in his tiny body was proof enough that he wasn’t.

“You must remove yourself from my shoulder. I need to put them in car.”

Ri immediately hopped onto the roof of the car. Feitan didn’t mean put claw marks on his paint, but hey, he was off. Nox was bundled back into the passenger seat, securely buckled in. They were fully unconscious now. Understandable. He had no idea if Ri had taken on anyone else, but they had definitely been feeding off of blood.

It was odd.

Vampires didn’t exist, and yet Feitan had naturally found the closest possible thing to become the object of his affections.

Feitan paused after buckling them in to watch in bewilderment as Ri swept in to land on Nox’s lap and nestle down.

“You are not coming.” He  _ knew _ this creature understood English. The look he got was all the confirmation he needed. Ri could have opened his beak and spoken and it wouldn’t have conveyed the very aura of “what are you gonna do, kill me?” he was exuding.

“Ri. You are exhausting them.” That was a lie. Despite it all, Nox had plenty of Nen left, and Ri as himself drained next to nothing. Powerful as he was, it paled in comparison to the rest of the murder.

Ri just stared at him. Feitan didn’t like being challenged by a bird. He liked arguing with a bird even less. He could kill him. But, not only would it ultimately be pointless, he was decently certain Nox would not be pleased with him killing not just one of their murder, but their number one.

The necklace was still clutched in his fist. He looked down at it. When he had drilled in that hole, he hadn’t expected Nox to actually put it on their necklace. He had hoped, yes, but not enough to allow for disappointment.

The gold against the cool white gleamed and he reflected, for just a moment, that it looked like a sun and a moon. Two sides to their own coin.

Much like him and Nox. Feitan, the fiery cataclysm of an actual sun. Nox, whose name translated to literal darkness, the masculine form of the god of the night. Was he the other side to Nox’s coin? Could Nox have two coins? Was this fate that they meet?

Feitan reached in to slip the chain back over their head and tuck it into the coat, how they liked it. It was filthy. He could clean it for them, later.

It was an hour’s drive to the city. The windows on his car were tinted enough that they could sleep without suspicion while he got them new clothes, something to eat, a new phone. Hopefully when they got them into the hotel they’d be awake enough to get into a shower.

He had no idea what their shoe size was.

That was a problem.

Feitan slid into his seat, stared at his phone, and opened his messages to text Hisoka.

**What is Nox shoe size.**

**Why do you need to know their shoe size.**

**They expressed that they do not want to come home. So I need their shoe size.**

**They need to come home.**

**You can tell them that when they wake up. What is shoe size.**

**What are you doing.**

What was Feitan really doing? He had no idea.

_ “Just keep trying.” _

**What they ask me to. Shoe size.**

**You really think indulging in their unhealthy coping shit is going to win me over?**

**Do not care what their shit is. Care what their shoe size is.**

Were they isolating themselves? Probably. But sometimes people needed space. Hisoka was being the fuck here.

**You really think them isolating themselves after THIS is going to help them?**

**They are not isolated. They are with me. They want space, I give them space. Shoe size.**

**And what happens when they don’t come back?**

Hisoka was too paranoid. He’d need a compromise.

**Give me week. If they do not want come back after week, then we talk.**

**What makes you think you can do what we can’t?**

**Not about what I can do. About what they want to do. And they do not want to come back right now. Shoe. Size.**

**…. Women’s 7, shirt size small, pants size 5 depending on the brand, you can guess on the undergarments I am NOT telling you that shit. And get iron supplements.**

**See? Not so hard. Will get them phone soon.**

**They hate Apple.**

**I know.**

Okay. That bought them a week. A vacation could be good. Sometimes a vacation could fix a lot of things. Feitan put the car in drive and took off. He’d have to get gas on the way. It was an hour’s drive, but he could make it in thirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys liked this arc, please let me know!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	55. The Crow and The Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan and Nox arrive at a hotel.

Nox came to to the sound of Feitan’s voice.

“---cannot go into lobby.” Something wet was being rubbed on their face. It smelled like cucumbers. A face wipe? Who was he talking to?

There was a course of irritation through their Nen and they vaguely recognized Ri’s presence. Was Feitan fighting with Ri?

“Stop that, you  _ dick. _ ”

A low moan escaped Nox’s lips. Their whole body ached. Feitan stopped and looked down at them awkwardly. They were in the passenger seat of his car, wrapped in his coat. It was very warm. Did Feitan not like the cold? They had never thought to ask.

“I am sorry. I meant to wake you in hotel room.”

Hotel room? They weren’t back at the manor?

They managed to focus their eyes long enough to watch him toss the wipe into a plastic bag at their feet. Their legs were clean. He was trying to get them inside without raising too many questions. Smart.

“ _ Where? _ ”

“I took you to Dassun,” Feitan replied. “You said you did not want to go home.”

They had? When had they said that?

It suddenly crashed in in a rush and their eyes widened significantly. The Nen flowing into them. The screams. Theirs. The staff. The guards. Arthur. The blue orange light of the blowtorch. Fingers on the ground. The waiting, swaying, floating in heady lust and power as they wanted more, more, more. The lust. The craving. The vicious internal battle that felt like it had lasted days while they waited for him to come.

The way it swept away when Feitan wrapped them in his coat. His coat they were still wearing. The way his aura surged. How the taste of his brief jealousy, his possessiveness, his pride had felt tantalizing. How they wanted to devour it.

How he had kissed their temple and they felt at peace.

“ _ Feitan? _ ”

“Yes?”

“ _ You like me? _ ” Nox was present enough to know to use simple words he’d already learned. Point for Nox.

Feitan blinked down at them.

“You did all that, your bird has harassed me for past hour, and this is what you want to ask?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Well … I came, did I not?”

“ _ But you like me? _ ”

“Yes.”

“ _ Good. Want s-h-o-w-e-r. _ ”

“I got in bags already. Please do not yell loud.”

Feitan swept his arms under their knees and lifted them up before leveling a glare on Ri, sitting on top of the hood. Nox bit back a yelp. Nyx had doubled up the dose. How thoughtful of them. It still was not helping. They were just too tired.

“No lobby. You meet on balcony if you must be brat. You have bad behavior.” Nox was almost sad they had missed the drive. It would have been a show, and, judging from the mess of hair on Feitan’s head, it was.

Ri let off a coughing caw, surging with indignation, and took flight. Nox let their head fall against Feitan’s shoulder. They could feel the exhaustion and pain in their bones. They never regretted overdoing it. It was just what they did. Nyx was likely beyond ecstatic right now. They had both felt that pain. Nox knew they had felt it. If Nyx loved anything, it was retribution. And forty eight crows was most certainly retribution. Nyx never seemed to mind the pain, it was just …

Nox wasn’t going to go there. Thinking about it may force them into losing their resolve. Their eyes drifted shut as Feitan carried them through the silent lobby and bumped the elevator button with his hip.

“Hey,” Feitan said and nudged them again. “Your pelvis. You need shower.”

Nox couldn’t be fucked to care. They could just lay there. A sigh escaped their lips and they buried their face in Feitan’s shoulder. He’d have to put them in and take them out if they wanted to be stubborn. They weren’t  _ that _ needy.

A low breath escaped them again and they tightened their grasp on his shoulders as they breathed through it.

Setting up their pelvis took so long for two reasons. The first was that it was very delicate work. Too much pressure and they could make more cracks. Too little pressure and it wouldn’t hold. It was a balance between strands of Nen holding the pieces together, much like Bungee Gum, and “plates” of Nen pressing in to hold the overall construction in place. It took an intense knowledge of their body. The second reason was that it was incredibly painful. Once it was done, of course, it was second nature to hold it. They couldn’t do it in their sleep, but it functioned largely as background noise. They could do anything with it in gear.

But they couldn’t be laid in the bed to set it up. Not in this state. It was easier lying down, but they were drenched. They would just have to do it now. It seemed like they were hurting Nyx a lot lately. Despite the necessity, they hated it.

Their shoulders shook as they directed their focus. Pain exploded and they dug their nails into Feitan’s shoulders. It was fine. They did this every morning. They were just so  _ tired _ right now. And their whole body hurt, and they felt sick, awful, and they needed to sleep, and they had just done what they did, and …

They needed sleep. But they needed a shower. Their body was still in mission mode. They wouldn’t be able to completely crash until they washed off the blood, washed the smell out of their nostrils, forgot about blowtorches and scalpels. They needed to trick their body into thinking it was over.

It was never over.

None of it was ever over.

The pain seared through their pelvis. Feitan was watching. For some reason, Nox didn’t mind. They could focus enough to do this, at least. Bones shifted, were pushed into place, ground together in some places where they overdid it, settled, until it became a full and complete pelvis once again.

“It hurts,” Feitan said quietly. Nox nodded. “I saw you do it in the mornings, but I did not … watch.”

If anyone knew about broken bones, it was Feitan. He could probably understand the pain.

The doors dinged open. He didn’t set them down. He just carried them down the hall, keyed open the door to reveal shopping bags stacked in the corner, a smoothie on the dresser, and set them down in the bathroom.

“I will let in Ri,” he said. Nox stared dully at the excessively large bathroom with a shower and a separate tub. This was a nice hotel. Expensive. Had he bought them clothes?

They briefly recalled that Feitan was, in fact, filthy rich and had no idea what to do with his money, considering that he was not, in fact, a hedonist, but a kleptomaniac. They weren’t even certain that he had bought his car. So it stood to reason that he decided this was cause to actually use his money. It still felt weird to have it thrown at them. Even if it objectively meant nothing to the pitcher.

The coat really meant more than the bags of presumable clothes on the bed.

He’d remembered their favored shampoo. It was sitting in the shower, right next to their favorite conditioner and soap.

Right. He was a creep. An endearing creep. But a creep.

Nox stripped off the coat, carefully laid it over the sink, and peeled off the bra stuck to their skin, took off the bloodied necklace. They’d almost forgotten about the stitches in their head. It kind of blended with everything else.

They couldn’t see the bruises under the dried blood. They started the shower and pulled off the ruined underwear. It could wash out. They didn’t want to wear them again.

Nox stared at themselves in the mirror. Matted hair. Sunken eyes. Deep black circles. Painfully skinny, despite the carefully toned muscle. Dried blood from their neck to their knees. They couldn’t even see the bruising underneath it all. But they could see it on their shins. Their hands. Their neck. Black and blue and ugly. After forty eight, they all blended together.

They were toned, yeah, but they were small. So small, with breasts that didn’t even qualify as an A cup, thanks to stringent puberty blockers until they figured out how to make a hysterectomy work. Under developed, thanks to their diet, their lack of taurine. Their mother had been tall, 5’11, and their father had been 6’4, taller than Hisoka. Through the years, Nox had progressively forgotten what they looked like. They were fairly sure their father’s hair was gray, even in his youth. It was probably a blessing that they had no one to compare themselves to.

Scars, ridged and ugly, all across their skin. Klaus tried to minimize them, but the older ones? Before Klaus? They were never going to fade. Nox and Nyx had one purpose to the ring.

They remembered that flash of possessiveness, how they’d craved it. Wanted it. Needed it.

They hadn’t considered that at some point or another, they would be asking why. When all of this started, the thought hadn’t occurred. Nox was a very self confident person. Their body was a perfectly honed weapon, and they utilized it to their full ability. But that clear and obvious possessiveness had shaken that faith. Because … How could someone like Feitan want someone like them? A broken toy, destined to be tossed aside when the usefulness was fulfilled. He’d have to share those memories etched across their skin, and he knew it. He knew where they came from.

Steam was fogging up the mirror. Nox needed to shower, sleep, stop being silly. They stumbled into the shower and tilted their head down.

Blood. Blood. So much blood circled around the drain and they kept their eyes on the flow. They didn’t want to look at their body. Didn’t want to see the damage they had done this time, to themselves, to Nyx.

They watched it go. They remembered when Nyx had to dye their hair red. A permanent dye, since red was so tricky. It had held for about three weeks before it was gone and it had never stopped bleeding out. It had stained all of the towels. Hisoka had thought it was hilarious. His hair was natural, and the thought of people going through this to get his shade was amazing to him. Nyx had washed every three days and it just kept bleeding. Nox had abandoned thoughts of bleach and dying their own hair red after that. It seemed like too much work.

The blood was all in their mass of hair. It reminded them of the dye. It just kept going and going and going with no signs of respite. They remembered the first time they had rinsed Nyx’s hair. They always handled the dye part. They were good at it. The red had just kept going and going and going. There was no stopping. They had been bent over that tub for a good thirty minutes before they gave up and hoped it would hold. It never did.

Nox didn’t regret it. They didn’t regret how they didn’t care how good it felt, how it didn’t matter, how they just wanted to finish, even if they didn’t know what the race was. They didn’t regret how little they cared when they cut into his fingers, cauterized them. They didn’t care how they had grabbed Feitan’s arm, kept him from killing him.

It wasn’t about feeling good because they knew they couldn’t truly feel good. What they felt was superficial, a temporary way to ease how awful they felt. It wasn’t real.

They did it anyways. Not because it felt good. But because they wanted to.

And they stopped. Like Chrollo said they had before. No one would know about this one. No one would remember. It wasn’t like Jun. It wouldn’t dominate the news for weeks. It wouldn’t be something that mattered. Because none of those people mattered. Because to the world they were  _ bad _ people.

It felt worse, somehow. Because they had summoned almost everyone but Axis and Chloe. Because they could have brought the ceiling down on them, because they had known the damage of unleashing in that space to that degree, because they knew exactly what they were doing and did it anyways.

Jun was just a blackout. One second they had it together, were pulling at the various strands of what made Nox, Nox, trying not to snap, and then the next it had all been out of control. And yet it was more controlled. They only had two birds.

They didn’t snap this time. They got loose, got off that table, sat, breathed, gathered themselves, and then done it. They were in control every second of the way.

It was different.

They couldn’t go home like this.

The blood was out. They didn’t know how long they had stood there, watching it get swallowed, never to be seen again.

They could feel the weight of mats. There was no washing that. It would only make it worse. Hair to their ass was such a burden. It didn’t even work in combat.

Nox ignored it for now. They had to wash their body. They had to shave. Numbly, they grabbed the loofah and began to scrub.

It hurt. Physically and mentally, to look at the evidence of their crimes. The bruises blended together. There was scarcely a break where you could see real pale skin. Their entire stomach area looked like Axis had worked his way out. They were hideous. They felt like they might break, scrubbing and shaving. They needed to get out of this shower and in the most covering material they could find. They didn’t want to look.

The water shut off. They stumbled out, wrapped themselves in a fluffy towel, and opened the door.

Resolve set in. Painful resolve.

Feitan looked up from the bed. He was on his phone. There was a second phone charging on the dresser. Nox pointed wordlessly at the umbrella in the corner.

“What?”

“ _ Give me sword. _ ”

“.... I do not know that word.” Right. Sword was not going to be something covered.

“ _ S-w-o-r-d. Sword. Give me sword. _ ”

“... Why you want sword?”

They probably looked deranged. They felt a little deranged. Years of work was about to go down the drain.

“ _ Hair. Sword. Please. _ ”

“You want to cut hair with sword?”

“ _ Yes. Give me sword. _ ” Why was he arguing?

“Will be uneven.”

“ _ F-i-x fix later. _ ” When had they started teaching him sign? They couldn’t place a moment. “ _ Sword. _ ”

Feitan stared at them like they had lost it. They had. Whatever. They were never going to get these mats out.

“You wait twenty minutes?”

“ _ What for? _ ”

“Will get real scissors.”

Nox let out a frustrated huff. It took them another three seconds to realize Ri was settled on Feitan’s stomach. Something inside them softened.

“ _ Want ice cream. _ ” He had just finished his food lessons. He had a pretty good grasp on the subject.

“What kind?” Ri hopped off Feitan’s stomach as he sat up.

“ _ C-o-o-k-i-e cookie d-o-u-g-h dough. _ ”

“Anything else?”

“ _ Soda. _ ”

“Kind?”

“ _ G-i-n-g-e-r ginger a-l-e ale. Ginger ale. Lemon. _ ” Perhaps they were feeling too aggressive and deranged right now to bother with writing. They probably looked it, braced in the doorway in a towel like this.

“The lemonade ginger ale?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“ _ Lemonade ginger ale. _ ” His signing was … surprisingly fluid. Nox’s heart softened a little more at the sight.

“ _ Thank you, _ ” they replied and then made a beeline for the bags, grabbed about three of them, and retreated to the bathroom. The door slammed behind them. Their heart was pounding.

They heard the door click shut as Feitan left to make the errand run. Wide eyed, Nox slid against the door, a plastic bag pressed to their chest. What on  _ earth _ had just happened there?

Nox did a recount. One, they had a full, albeit weird conversation with someone else that wasn’t a Morrow or Gon in sign. And he had known a word they didn’t know he knew. Which meant he wasn’t just learning when they could see. He hadn’t moved on to the beverage portion of the videos. They knew he hadn’t.

But he knew they liked lemonade ginger ale. They had never signed it in front of him. He just saw them put it on the shopping list, drank it every chance they got. He’d learned lemonade because they liked it.

Secondly, they had literally just ordered around Feitan Portor, and he didn’t care. He just let them. Provided another option, stayed calm while they were losing it over how their hair, their hair they had grown for years and years was matted beyond repair, and then just done what they needed.

And he was going to get them ice cream. He had just left. To get them ice cream.

And Ri was chilling on his stomach. Something about that image had struck a chord in Nox, seeing Feitan laying there with their crow on his stomach, scrolling through his phone.

They had always accepted that this would end.

They didn’t want it to end.

They could hear their heart in their ears as they gathered themselves. On the other side of their bond filtered a sense of amusement. Well at least  _ someone _ here thought this shit was funny. Nox was not amused.

It had been a roller coaster of emotions ever since they woke up. They wanted to sleep. They wanted to chop off these mats. It would have to go to their shoulders if they wanted to at least have a chance of brushing them out. What they wouldn’t give for straight hair. Straight hair could get fixed. Not this behemoth.

They kind of secretly had always wanted short hair. They could cling to that.

They weren’t going to look like Nyx anymore. No way would Nyx cut their hair.

It almost felt like a relief.

Nox took another final shuddering breath and set to look through the bags they had blindly grabbed. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, shirts, sleep pants, sports bras, underwear, socks, deodorant. A brush. All basic requirements. It probably didn’t take much to guess at their bra size.

The second bag was larger. There were two shoe boxes. Nox’s brows furrowed as they pulled open the top of the first. Black kicks. The kind they liked. In the right size. The second were boots. Good boots with zips on the side and laces. Also in the right size. How did he know their shoe size?

The third bag had pants. Several pants. Also in the right size. So he had texted Hisoka or Nyx. How that conversation went down, they had no idea, but somehow he’d managed to triumph. A few more shirts, jewelry cleaner, how strange, and another bag had been shoved in with it. Full of notepads and pens. And …

They pulled out the sketch pad. Pencils. Color pencils. Charcoal sticks. Watercolors. Brushes. Sharpies.

Their lower lip wobbled. He even knew to make sure it was multimedia and watercolor safe.

They would pass this off as a very emotional day. It was an emotional day. A lot had happened. They couldn’t bother with holding back the sob that worked its way up and out.

Tears spilled out as they held the sketch pad close against their chest. It was such a simple thing. It was such a simple, insignificant thing, but it made Nox feel like the most significant person in the world.

The notepads they could pass off as him needing to be able to communicate with them.

They couldn’t pass this off as insignificant. A necessity. The bag was from an art store. He’d gone out of his way to get this for them. They hadn’t asked. Wouldn’t ask. He did it anyways.

The sobs kept coming. They were so tired. They were so tired. They were mentally and physically exhausted. They didn’t know why they were the way they were.

But the reality was becoming clear. They thought Feitan was drawn to them for their deadliness. Even with letting them win. Even with the coin. The base fact was there: he loved how deadly they were, and that made everything else fall into place.

It was his turn to surprise them.

The sobs slowed after about five minutes into hiccups. They looked gross. He was going to be coming back soon.

Nox pulled on sleep pants and an oversized shirt. Comfort clothes. They were soft. They almost couldn’t see the bruises. Mechanically, they cleaned up the mess they’d made of the bathroom, put the toothbrushes and toothpaste on the counter, made sure to put on the deoderant, washed their face, blew their nose, and by the time the door opened the hotel room was pristine again.

Feitan came in with a bag in hand. He studied Nox carefully.

“You cried.” It was a statement of fact.

“ _ Long day, _ ” Nox signed. “ _ Thank you. _ ”

“What for?” Feitan blinked at them. Ri ruffled his way into wakefulness on the pillows he’d perched on. He was always falling asleep.

“ _ S-k-e-t-c-h p-a-d. Sketch pad. _ ”

Feitan squinted at them.

“You cry over sketch pad?” Color rose in Nox’s cheeks.

“ _ No. _ ” Yes.

Feitan squinted at them one more time and then decided to leave that be. A wise choice.

“Go in bathroom. I will cut.”

He set the bag on the bed and took out two pints of ice cream, two drinks, a pair of hair scissors, and a comb. Nox followed instructions, draped a towel around their shoulders and flipped out their thickly matted hair.

It was probably time. It probably was about a pound of weight on their head at this point. They were probably exaggerating, but it felt like that in the summer.

Feitan joined them, set a pad and pen on the counter just in case.

The scissors were brandished. He met their eyes.

“You are sure? I have not cut hair in while.”

Nox nodded. Curls were forgiving. They could hide any minor fuck ups until it grew out long enough to get trimmed.

Feitan pursed his lips and lifted a nasty clump.

“How short?”

Nox lifted their hands to illustrate shoulder length.

“ _ You said short black hair beautiful, _ ” they added. That little moment stuck with them. They didn’t know why.

“I did?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Oh.”

Feitan looked nervous. Nox rolled their eyes and grabbed the pad.

**You can literally cut with such precision you can stop within millimeters of an artery. And slice a fucking coin in half. I think you can handle some hair. Just cut.**

Feitan gave them an exasperated look.

“Brain surgeon is not beautician.”

“ _ Cut. _ ”

“You lucky you are cute,” Feitan muttered. Nox felt color rise again, and before they could respond the first snip came.

A chunk of hair fell to the ground. Nox stared at it with wide eyes. Had their hair really been that long?

“I will cut to shoulder blades so I can work out mats before evening hair. Okay?”

Nox signed a distant acknowledgment. For some reason this was giving them some kind of adrenaline rush they hadn’t experienced before. For the past six years they’d only had health trims. It never looked like this.

“Is something wrong?”

“ _ It’s long. _ ”

Feitan blinked down at the hunk of hair.

“Yes.”

“ _ Keep going. _ ”

The next snip. And then the next. Damp, matted hair fell to the bathroom floor and Nox continued to watch in a trance. Very quickly the two were surrounded in a pool of black, and Feitan reached across them to grab the leave in conditioner and work it into the rest of their hair. The remaining mats were picked and brushed out as Nox bore the yanks on their scalp. Yeah. Nyx was definitely going to feel that.

“You did not wash your hair,” Feitan chided.

**You try washing completely matted hair to your ass and let me know how that goes.**

“You will at least save on shampoo now,” Feitan muttered and Nox snorted out a laugh.

Yeah … Yeah, the shampoo got expensive. And conditioner. And leave in. And masks because Hisoka would not let them go around looking like “dull and forgettable trash”. If you were going to be trash, you’d better look good while you did it. The Morrow motto.

Feitan was just brushing now, frowning as he examined how their hair bounced back into curls.

“I do not know where to cut for it to be shoulder length when dry.”

Nox didn’t really know, either, but made a guess.

**Few inches below the shoulders I guess?**

“Like three?”

Nox held up two fingers. If it was short, that would be their burden to bear.

Feitan let out a low breath and started to cut. Snippets of hair dusted the towel as he evened it out with trepidation. Nox could not recall ever seeing him so concentrated. His brow was furrowed so tightly. They could watch this all day.

It was only when he finished that they started to flag.

They really were just exhausted. The explosion of emotions had kept them up, but now that they were in relative comfort with Feitan their body remembered that it was supposed to be tired.

Feitan pulled off the towel and shook it out.

“You rinse off,” he ordered. They were pretty itchy. “I clean up.”

How he was going to do that without a broom or dustpan, they had no idea, but they weren’t going to fight him on it. Without even thinking about it, they turned and peeled off their shirt.

It took a second for them to realize that the two of them had mutually decided to do this at the same time. And the shower was glass.

It took another second for them to realize that Feitan could now see the full extent of the damage they had done to themselves. He could see how mottled their arms and shoulders and legs were before, but most of the birds exited through their back and torso. It was hideous. A horrible condition and a deadly one. If they were angry enough, they knew they could manage irreparable damage. But, then again, that was the risk any Nen user took, wasn’t it?

Awkward silence filled the room. And, then, a whisper gentle touch down their spine, across the swelling and pain, a soothing presence. A memory rising up of TwoSkin and braids and soft blankets.

“Why this condition? Because you are Gemini?”

Nox thought to the first time Nyx had done their second hatsu. They hadn’t been there for that one, obviously. Blood vessels all up and down their arms had burst as Nyx performed Black Gravity. Their fingers had been swollen for a week. They could barely hold a pencil, could scarcely sign. Nyx had come home with Hisoka, drained, tired. They had decided to make hatsus that communicated danger. It had been an effective signal. Nyx hadn’t meant to make such a nasty condition for the two of them, hadn’t meant to take away their ways of speech. It had been far worse for the two of them than what Nox did.

They had looked Nox right in the eyes when they could finally sign effectively again, and told them to make it worse, ignored the fact that Nox couldn’t do worse than what Nyx had done to them.

Nox didn’t turn around. They picked up their notepad and wrote their simple philosophy.

**I never do things by halves. Besides. Nyx has objectively worse effects on us.**

“Worse than this?” Feitan didn’t move his fingers away. He just kept touching, gentle, gingerly, and Nox somehow found themselves liking it.

**With Nyx’s, we can’t talk.**

“Bruises on fingers?”

**Something like that. You can talk to Nyx about it.**

Feitan gingerly brushed a stray hair off of their shoulder.

“You are something else,” he breathed and Nox’s heart fluttered. In a way, their abilities were the same. The only difference was self infliction.

**So are you.**

Feitan’s aura felt like he wanted to kiss them. Nox didn’t turn around. Not yet.

**You felt possessive.**

“I am possessive.”

**So you don’t care?**

“What would I care for?”

**That I’m … Where I come from.**

“Of course I care.” Nox’s heart fell. “They are someone you want to destroy. So I will burn them alive for you.” It screeched to a halt.

Wandering hands traced their hot, burning bruises, tracing a trail down their back. It felt intimate. Nox’s heart was back up in their throat.

**I’ve never kissed someone. Consensually.**

“Then you can do when you feel like it.” He made it all sound so simple. Nox wished things were so simple.

They wanted this intimacy right now. It felt good. Feitan seemed to know all of their boundaries without having to say them. It felt … Very good.

Maybe it really was just that simple.

Without another word, Nox started the shower. Feeling wandering eyes they wanted to stay on them, they dropped their pants and stepped in. Hot water set at the lowest pressure coursed over them and they very nearly let their eyes pop out of their sockets at how little weight was on their head. They ran their fingers through their hair, glanced over, and there was Feitan. Using two pieces of paper to clean up. Efficient. He did it like he’d done it before.

It was strange to wash their hair with him in the bathroom with them. For one, they felt like they were missing something. Specifically approximately two feet of hair. For two, they felt like they weren’t missing something. Having Feitan accept that this was what they wanted, this quiet, almost domestic intimacy, not to leave, but not take it farther, made it feel like he had always been here. Like he was supposed to be here. He didn’t ogle them. He didn’t stare at them. There was no sense of lust from his aura. Just quiet complacency. Perhaps it was as close to happiness as Feitan could get.

Nox thought back to the sketch book.

They could get used to this.

Feitan finished cleaning and left. Nox didn’t feel sorry for the loss. He was right in the other room with Ri.

They shut off the shower and dried off. The shirt and sleep pants were both full of hair. It was late. They were tired, despite how much they wanted their ice cream. He had gotten them a phone, but they were too tired to set it up.

The exhaustion that kept getting chased away reared up its ugly head and they shuffled into the bedroom. Hair dripping wet, they grabbed a second pair of pants, fresh underwear, another loose t-shirt. He had evidently selected clothes based on how they were going to be looking for the next week. Nothing constricting, all a little oversized to be easier to put on.

The smoothie had been thoughtfully placed in the fridge. Just a whiff told them there was protein powder in it.

“ _ Meds? _ ” They signed with one hand, and Feitan, Ri back on his stomach, reached down to grab his bag and wrestle out their nightly medication.

“ _ Text Nyx? _ ” They were so tired. A big slurp of smoothie and then they swallowed the pills. Feitan nodded as Nox rubbed at their eyes.

“Your condition is back.”

Nox set the half drunk smoothie down to sloppily grab their notepad and scrawl out the reply.

**Doesn’t kick in fully till my head is out of battle mode.**

“If cutting your hair takes you out of battle mode, I think we should talk coping mechanisms. Only so much hair.”

Nox snorted and crawled under the covers. Feitan nudged Ri, who hopped onto the nightstand irritably so Feitan could get up and change.

“Why is Ri here?” Feitan asked over his shoulder.

Damn Nox, but they had eyes. They gleefully watched as he stripped off his shirt, ogled his powerful back muscles as he pulled on a tank top and sleep pants. Those thighs … Nox wanted to do things to those thighs.

They should probably focus on first base first.

Feitan turned around and tilted his head.

“What?”

Bulldog cute.

“ _ He likes you. _ ”

“I think he does not.”

**Did you think he was trying to pin you or something when he was on your stomach?**

“I think he plots.”

Nox snorted and reached out with one hand to let Ri nuzzle their fingers.

**He’s harmless.**

“I watch him explode someone.” As if their crows would ever harm Feitan. How rude.

A thought occurred to Nox. They had no idea how long they’d been unconscious. Even now they felt it slipping to the point where they couldn’t hold their pen.

“ _ When g-a-l-a? _ ”

“Yesterday. Why?”

They were tired. Their heart fell a little as Feitan crawled back into bed with them.

“ _ I’m sorry. _ ”

“For what?”

“ _ Four days. _ ”

Feitan’s brows furrowed and Nox’s eyes started to drift shut. A hand took theirs and warm lips pressed a kiss to their knuckles. He remembered.

“Do not worry.” His breath was so warm. “I bought spray bottle.”

A laugh choked out and the last thing Nox remembered was warm eyes and a shiver of amusement from Ri.

Yeah. They didn’t want it to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later upload than normal!! I had to finish writing my final papers after finding out they were due Thursday night (literally did not even start one until that night) and the stress got to me haha. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	56. The Truck and The Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ging has a heart attack.

Ging didn’t like to be bothered. He didn’t like people. He was a reclusive beast. He liked his kid, of course. He loved his kid, in his own way. But he really didn’t like his kid’s friend, boyfriend, whatever, right now.

Killua, as Zoldycks are apt to do, had somehow managed to get his number. Ging had no idea how or why he thought he’d needed it, but the kid had texted him incessantly for a week. Ging had tried to block his number. He got another one. And another. And another until Ging gave up.

The whole world thought he was a deadbeat dad. Maybe he was. He’d been informed, rather viciously, that he owed Mito approximately ten years of child support, when in all honesty Mito had practically kidnapped Gon herself. Or at least annoyed him into surrendering him because “toddlers didn’t need to be traveling in ancient haunted tombs”. She was right, of course, but she acted like Ging didn’t have child care set up for when there was a real danger of the ceiling caving in. He was responsible. Sort of.

In any case, Killua had been texting him incessantly that something was wrong. Someone had installed some kind of software on Gon’s phone that Killua couldn’t bypass to get his location. No one knew where he was. Gon wouldn’t tell him his teachers’ names. Why he had even been trying to track Gon’s phone was beyond Ging, seemed like a gratuitous invasion of privacy, but Killua insisted that he knew when Gon was lying, and Gon was evidently lying a lot.

It was kind of offensive. Ging didn’t think Gon was lying, but apparently his estranged boyfriend knew he was. Ging finally gave in if only to stop the aggravating walls of text telling him to be a parent. A fifteen year old. Lecturing him on parenting. Annoying.

Killua was probably right. Gon had likely gotten himself embroiled in some shit. Ging had always known exactly where he was, when he was there, and he didn’t know now. That had actually been a point to Gon. He’d been a little proud. Until Killua’s texts started and he realized Gon by himself was just not skilled enough to hide from him, and likely never knew that Ging always knew where he was.

He only had one clue to his location. Gon had mentioned blue poppies blooming, described them as extremely pale, so pale they were nearly white. Those poppies grew in a specific location, near the coast and Whale Island. They weren’t exactly coveted. Poppies faded so quickly, and no amount of crossbreeding could keep them alive for long, so they were primarily left alone. The town that cultivated them, preserved them, pressed them and sold them in resin pours and picture frames was a good starting point. They were a bit removed from current events, likely wouldn’t recognize Gon as it had been a year since NGL. The wider public had a fickle memory, and small towns like this one were notorious for forgetting major events. If you mentioned Chimera Ants to them, they would likely act like it was some kind of historical record.

It was probably a good place for him to train.

Killua’s borderline harassment had honestly triggered something in Ging’s brain. Gon was an honest kid, and yet he had so skillfully evaded questions about his teachers, how he was learning, what methods they were using. So skillfully it was like someone had coached him. The only indication of anything about his teachers were that 1.) there were multiples, two or three, and 2.) Gon had mentioned he had learned a new sign dialect. Ging hadn’t even known that he knew one.

Gon did need to learn how to lie. Ging could admit that. As a Hunter, he needed to know how. He still didn’t like not knowing who was teaching him, especially when they were doing it so well. Ging hadn’t even realized he was doing it until maybe their third phone conversation, a few days ago. Gon had mentioned one of their teachers had gone on another trip and he was moving on to independent study, and Ging realized he didn’t even remember Gon mentioning a first trip.

Gon had also mentioned his time with them was coming to an end, and he wanted to see Ging when he was done. Ging wasn’t sure how to take that.

He would never admit it, but while he had so much faith in Gon, the kid scared the shit out of him. When Gon had come out in that hall in tears, snot nosed, ugly and messy Ging had felt nothing but relief. He was seeing his kid right there, a big fourteen years old, and he was sobbing. Ging had known he’d be okay in that moment. Even if he had no clue what to do. He really hadn’t. No one took the concept of “hands off parenting” as seriously as Ging, after all.

He couldn’t be hands off right now. Every step of Gon’s progress had been carefully monitored, watched from a distance. The only thing he regretted, really, was that he couldn’t get to NGL in time to put a stop to what was going on. And when he did arrive, the damage had already been done and he’d been a little helpless to intervene. There really wasn’t anything he could do, despite what Leorio said, despite what everyone thought. He’d been there himself. He knew what it was like. There was nothing to be done.

There was something to be done right now, though, even if he didn’t know what he was actually supposed to be doing. Gon seemed fine when he talked to him. He didn’t think anything was wrong, really. If Gon wanted to be secretive, that was his prerogative. Even if Ging  _ was _ a hands on parent, he still knew teenagers needed space and privacy and their secrets.

He was pretty sure. He didn’t know when to intervene.

He’d never admit it, but NGL had terrified him. He didn’t want to see Gon in the hospital because …

Nah. He wasn’t going to admit to that.

He could at least do something right now. Even if it was fairly innocuous, nothing to really worry about.

The town was rather cute. All pastel painted houses and a decent enough size to get okay clothing selections, two large supermarkets. Maybe a population of 50,000. Nothing to sneeze at. There was a fish factory, a fishing industry, artisans, plenty of gas stations. An open air market during the spring for tourists. Bed and breakfasts. A resort.

Ging’s main focus was the main supermarket. Even if Gon was out camping in the forest, he was definitely needing to come into town every so often for supplies. And phone reception. While his kid could live off the land, there was no need to with a town so close. And like he’d said, his teacher was gone on a trip and he probably had a little more freedom. They were a strict teacher, whoever they were. Ging could appreciate no contact with the outside world. After all, Gon loved the outdoors, and if his teacher knew that, forcing him to exist solely in nature was a good plan.

Ging still didn’t like it.

His truck rumbled into silence as he turned the key. While he wasn’t certain that Gon would need to come here anytime soon, Ging had a lot of gut instincts. And they were never wrong. His gut told him the supermarket, and so he was here.

Should he go in? He wasn’t sure.

The answer came to him rather abruptly as the doors slid open. A shock of black hair poking straight out of his kid’s head. He’d gotten taller. Not tall. But taller. He was going to surpass Ging here pretty soon. His clothes had changed. The green shorts were switched with black, and there was the ever present white tank. He was laughing. Laughing with …

What the everloving fuck.

A tall man on his left, a tall man on his right. Slicked back blonde hair, a track suit, and the other with long black hair pulled into a ponytail and jeans and a Henley. Carrying an excess of grocery bags.

What the  _ everloving fuck. _

Ging didn’t know if he needed to grab Gon and take off or scream at him right in this parking lot.

He was so shocked he forgot to drop into In. They noticed him almost immediately. Two heads wrenched up and stared at him across the parking lot. It took Gon a second later to realize something was wrong, and another second to figure out what his companions were staring at.

Ging was about to take the hands on parenting to the max. Slowly, very deliberately, he got out of the truck, slammed the door shut, and strolled across the parking lot. Phinks and Nobunaga were exchanging glances over Gon’s head. Gon looked stunned.

“You’re grounded.” It actually surprised him when it fell out of his mouth. He wasn’t even really sure how grounding worked, but Gon was definitely fucking grounded.

“It’s not what you think!” Gon blurted. “They kidnapped me!”

“ _ We  _ didn’t kidnap you, don’t put this on us, we have ice cream, we don’t have time for a fight,” Phinks groused. Ging wanted to punch him in the face.

“Hisoka was on the phone with Kurapika and I overheard and he kidnapped me and then the twins offered to train me to keep me quiet because Hisoka didn’t want to have to kill me and they’re really good teachers when Nox isn’t pissy and Ky’ia helped me open my nodes and---”

Ging didn’t hear the rest. Twins. Nox. Hisoka. Kurapika. The Morrows and … Oh,  _ fuck _ no.

A hand reached out to pick Gon up by the head and stuff him under his arm. No. No, fuck that. NGL was bad enough. He wasn’t going to have a second go around.

“I’ve heard enough. The fucking Morrows? You are not getting involved in this shit. No.”

Phinks stared at him. Nobunaga stared. In any other circumstances, Ging would be trying to kill them. Not in front of Gon. Not right now. If they wanted to get involved, fine, but not Gon.

“He doesn’t know,” Phinks blurted. Ging gave him a dark, nasty glare. “We won’t let our youngest get involved, either. But how do you know?”

“I’m the fucking Zodiac that gave Daiten the mission,” Ging spat.

“Dad? What?”

“We’re leaving.”

_ “No!” _ Something swelled under his arm and there was a burst of Nen. Gon went flying. Ging barely managed to brace himself and slid back on the asphalt. Phinks dropped his bags on instinct and caught Gon before he could crash into a pillar.

His Nen … Ging realized he had never been close enough to feel Gon’s Nen before. The realization was a punch in the gut.

His Nen felt calm. At peace. Happy at its base, under the mild panic and resolve. Everything Ging had wanted for him. And he was with the goddamn troupe.

And Phinks had reacted so fast. He didn’t let Gon crash through the pillar even though it would have done minimal damage. Gon spun on him. He looked like he was going to cry.

_ “I have to make sure Nox is okay!” _

“You do not need to get involved in this,” Ging said shortly. “We’re leaving.” Gon could cry if he wanted, but Nox would be fine. He’d watched them for years.

NGL was ugly enough. The Chimera Ants had been ugly enough. He wasn’t letting it happen again. Gon had just gotten better. Ging may be a shitty parent to the world, but he would be damned if Gon got involved in the ring. The Phantom Troupe somehow wiggling their way into this mess was bad enough. Sure, the twins were probably the best teachers he could have, if Ging’s watch from afar was any indication, but it was not happening like this.

“He doesn’t want to leave,” Nobunaga said stiffly.

“He’s fifteen.”

“You let him go to the NGL at fourteen.”

Ging wasn’t going to stand here and be judged in front of a fucking grocery store. He wasn’t going to let this turn into some kind of weird custody dispute.

_ “I was too late for NGL!” _

Silence dropped. Gon was staring at him in shock. Ging couldn’t look at him.

“What?” He looked like a kid. He was so small. Ging had never hugged him before. Shoving him under his arm was about as close as it got. He didn’t really know how, didn’t like to be touched. He probably should have, despite his hatred of it.

Nobunaga exchanged a glance with Phinks. Some unspoken conversation passed there. Ging wanted to grab Gon and shove him in the truck and drive off into the sunset. He wasn’t about to let his kid turn into a Spider. No way in hell.

“He likes the twins. The twins like him. We all like him,” Phinks reasoned. As if that was supposed to endear them to him. “Nox and Nyx promised to train him until we finished. We’ll make a deal. We’ll show you our hideout so you can drop in and keep an eye on him. When the strike happens, you can probably keep a hand on Kalluto enough to keep them from taking off. You watch Kalluto and Gon, and then the deal will be done, everyone’s happy.”

They were trying to reason with him. Ging wasn’t certain he wanted to reasoned with right now. He didn’t want Gon involved with this. Hisoka alone had launched an argument with him and Daiten that lasted a month. It was only when Hisoka grabbed the twins and Ging kept watching their progress from afar that he realized it had probably saved Hisoka’s life, like he saved the lives of the twins. He still didn’t want Gon involved.

“What don’t I know?” Gon demanded. He was still next to the troupe members. Away from Ging. The placement was a bit difficult to reconcile. But he didn’t know. They were keeping him safe from the knowledge. He didn’t know.

“A little after you were born I gave a friend a mission I couldn’t do,” Ging said shortly. He couldn’t do the mission  _ because _ he had a kid. Gon’s existence would have brought him into scrutiny, considering that there was no mother to stop him from doing what he wanted, and Ging was not about to use him as a tool, let him be around those people. “Hisoka was brought in a few years later, about a decade ago, and the twins four years or so after that. I had to be hands off because even sightings of me generate chatter. People think I’m a cryptid or some shit.”

“What mission?”

Phinks gave Gon a rather vicious, borderline protective side eye. Ging had no idea what to make of all of this. It was just like his kid to win over the Phantom Troupe.

“You don’t need to know.” If he did, Ging would have to recognize he had very little control over Gon short of force, and as terrible as everyone thought he was, he wasn’t about to exert physical violence over his kid. Gon would want to charge in, someone else would have to get violent with him, and then Ging would have to get violent with them on principle. It was different when it was blatantly in his face. “And why the fuck didn’t you use the code? You promised.”

Gon blinked at him.

“I wasn’t in danger.”

Right. Surrounded by the Phantom Troupe, surrounded by the Morrows, and he thought he wasn’t in any danger. Ging could feel a headache coming on.

“And what do you mean, make sure Nox was okay? Is that the one on a trip?” The black haired one, he was fairly certain. The one that had just ripped Gorten a new one. Them being with Feitan Portor made more sense now. They all shifted uncomfortably and Ging narrowed his eyes.

“They got stolen,” Gon blurted and Phinks smacked his palm to his face.

“They got stolen,” Ging repeated flatly. “And you two thought it was a good idea to bring me back to Hisoka right now?” He knew  _ exactly _ how obsessively protective he could be.

“Well, at least we know you aren’t a completely deadbeat dad,” Nobunaga said brightly. “Any dad should have been trying to kill Hisoka for his shit.”

“Dad’s not a deadbeat!” Gon insisted. Ging studied him. That sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Maybe he should grab Gon and shove him in the truck.

The kid would probably blow out his doors.

Point for Gon, he guessed. It took him literally almost joining the Phantom Troupe and getting kidnapped by the entire goddamn Morrow family for Ging to crawl out of his hole. The kid took after him too much. It was his own fault, really.

“So just to make sure, you want me to go to the Phantom Troupe hideout, where Hisoka is presumably absolutely losing his shit because one of the twins is missing, where I will be heavily outnumbered, just off of your word that you won’t attack me.” Ging needed to be sure that they were actually saying this.

“Chrollo and Hisoka agreed to not kill Gon because they recognized we don’t have time to fight you,” Phinks replied shortly. Ging was almost flattered. “No one’s going to attack you. No one even knows what you can do.”

Phinks bent down and picked up the bags.

“And Nox isn’t missing. Exactly.”

Gon’s eyes lit up.

“So I was  _ right! _ ” He crowed in triumph. Ging didn’t know what that was about.

“Don’t let him catch you saying that, kid. You can ride with Ging. He can follow us back.” And with that, Nobunaga and Phinks walked to a waiting Hummer, leaving Ging alone with Gon.

He hadn’t been alone with Gon since the World Tree.

Gon looked nervous as he climbed into the old beat up truck. Ging climbed in after him, shut the door, powered it up into a rumble as Nobunaga peeled out of the parking lot.

“Gon,” Ging said shortly as he went to follow them. “You’re not supposed to go through a rebellious phase for another year.”

“They aren’t so bad,” Gon said brightly. “I’m kinda glad you found us. I’ve been wanting to tell you all about them.”

“Who taught you to lie like that?”

“Nyx at first. Then Hisoka.” Of course it was Hisoka. No one but the best teachers for his offspring, he guessed.

“Guess you needed to learn sometime,” Ging muttered.

“Nyx is pissed I haven’t been doing regular schooling.”

“You don’t need it. You already picked your career field. The only reason they have to learn is because they are going to have to pick actual lives after this. Right now you can just learn what interests you.” Gon didn’t need a stringent school schedule. He could do as he liked. Ging wasn’t even sure how PEMDAS worked, but he could tell anyone about 6th century Kythin pottery. Some people may find that worth laughing at. A 34 year old man that couldn’t do basic math. Which is why he avoided people. People sucked.

Silence fell again. Gon wanted to ask him something. Ging could feel it. He was still pretty pissed with him. Ging could have easily come and gotten him. There didn’t even need to be damage. He could have just stolen him away in the night and no one would be the wiser.

This was some shit to pull.

“Say it.” Ging didn't mince words.

“Do you think I’m weak?” Gon’s voice was quiet, soft, fragile. Ging pursed his lips, memorized the license plate in front of him for the tenth time.

“Why do you ask?” He knew why he was asking. He wanted to hear Gon say it.

“Do you only love me if I’m strong?”

Ging wasn’t good at cleaning up his own mess. He wasn’t good at making up for his mistakes. Very often, people forgot it, or got over it the longer he was gone. Spending time with the Morrows had probably fucked Gon up. Ging was well aware of how the twins had been when Hisoka found them. Every so often he’d get into their medical records to check on their progress. He’d watched them grow in his own way. Spending … Was it three weeks now? With them was going to mess Gon up. Make him compare.

Ging wasn’t good at this.

“You were late to walk,” Ging said suddenly. He kept staring at the Hummer in front of them, didn’t take his eyes off the license plate. “You were fourteen months old when you managed it. I thought something was wrong. Most kids walk between nine and twelve. But one day you just got up, pulled yourself on the desk leg, and ran. You just skipped the first few uncertain steps and ran right into the bed, knocked your head on the footboard, got a nasty bruise. I thought you were going to die. The doctor said there were going to be a lot more bruises. You were a spirited kid, even then. She laughed at me, told me you were always going to scare the hell out of me, gave you a clean bill of health. You were fine. It wasn’t until I took you back to Whale Island that I realized there were going to be way bigger problems for you than beds if I stuck around. I could get you killed.”

The Hummer turned. Ging followed it, didn’t look back at Gon.

“So, no, I didn’t leave you because you weren’t strong. Me loving you isn’t dependent on how strong you are. I left you because I was too strong, and I can’t always save you. All the formula and toys and playpens and parenting books and baby food you always made a mess out of didn’t change the fact that I was too strong and there was always going to be a target on my back. You’ve met Hisoka. There’s always people like him, and they aren’t pretending.”

“You could’ve told me,” Gon said lowly. Ging pursed his lips.

“I could’ve. But I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a shit dad, Gon,” Ging said harshly. “Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, never did, and because I didn’t want to try.”

Gon had been helpless in that house. He was still helpless. He didn’t compare to anyone else’s power, and while his Nen was flooding back into what it had been before NGL, before Pitou, it still wasn’t enough. Ging was now realizing that despite how he had orchestrated a journey that would push Gon to his limits, it was never going to be enough.

“Did you agree because you thought you’d be strong enough with them as your teachers?” Ging asked lowly. Gon looked like he was going to cry, was courageously holding it back.

“Yes.”

Ging realized in that moment just how badly he had fucked up. He had seen the twins from a distance. He saw what happened in Jun, knew Nox had done it, knew their stamp. The bodies ripped apart, holes in the chests, blood and viscera spread for all to see. He hadn’t said anything when the Zodiacs argued about it. Because he got it. They shouldn’t have been in that kind of environment. It was doomed from the start. He couldn’t start being a hypocrite about what he had started. He was responsible, in a way. He should have intervened with Hisoka. It had only grown.

Gon may not know, but Ging had pushed him to seek tutelage from people like that. Ging knew the twins could be good people. He knew Hisoka was a good person, objectively. He knew that people like that, however, were permanently scarred. They knew how to flip the switch to be deeply evil and twisted when they needed to get shit done, and that was not the kind of person Gon needed to become. Gon had sought out that kind of strength from people like that because Ging had pushed him there.

A sigh escaped Ging’s lips and he held open his right arm.

“C’mere,” he muttered. Gon stared at him in shock and Ging just reached a little farther and grabbed him, pulled him across the middle seat to hug him close, kiss the top of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Ging mumbled into his head of hair. “I’m sorry, kid.”

He’d wanted to apologize after NGL, he just couldn’t. Now Gon had gone and done it again. Gotten in over his head to prove himself to Ging, pushed himself to a limit he shouldn’t be anywhere near to try and find love in Ging, and Ging, like an idiot, had let it go on for three weeks before he caught on. And he hadn’t even been the one to catch on. It had been Killua. Not him.

He didn’t doubt the twins liked Gon. Didn’t doubt that the troupe liked Gon. Maybe they were healthy for him, considering they were having this talk at all. It still didn’t erase the implications.

Gon let out a pent up sob and Ging barely managed to focus on the road. He could see Phinks’ eyes in the rearview mirror. This was probably an inopportune location for this. Gon always picked the most inopportune locations, which was precisely why Ging had made him climb the World Tree to avoid that. Another sob. Ging wasn’t sure what to do. Rub his back?

“Hey, Gon,” Ging said and nudged him as they came to a stoplight. Gon pulled back so they could meet gazes. “I do love you, okay? I love you. I just suck at a lot of shit.”

“Will you try?” Gon was holding it together again. A hand was raised, a pinky finger extended. Right. That promise he made with other people. Ging wrapped his own pinky around it.

“I’ll try.”

This method he had taken on just didn't work. He understood that now. NGL had happened, Kite had happened, and now he had just barely managed to divert it happening a second time. Sure, Hisoka would have dug in his heels better with the memory still fresh, the troupe may have handled it better, Gon’s focus wouldn’t have been so intense, but this could have gone south, somehow, someway, it could have gotten ugly quickly.

He needed to be more hands on.

Gon wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sat back in his seat.

“And put your seatbelt on. You’re still grounded.”

The belt clicked and then Gon screwed up his face in confusion.

“Do you even know how grounding works?” What a little shit.

“I can figure it out.”

This kid was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely included Gon for the sole purpose of giving this boy everything he really wants.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	57. The Spider and The Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo comes to a realization.

Hisoka couldn’t look at Alexandre objectively. It wasn’t his fault, of course. The man had raised him. Hisoka had to be accustomed to his aura, recognized it as one thing, couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Chrollo understood that. He himself got whiplash when met by weaker Nen, as opposed to being surrounded by the troupe at all times. Even Ky’ia’s Nen had gotten him as close as he could to shock. Powerful in its own right, but so very different from anything else Chrollo regularly encountered.

Hisoka was used to Alexandre’s Nen.

It was that simple. The way you got used to an aftershave someone wore for years and got thrown off when they changed it. And Alexandre’s Nen had never changed.

So Hisoka couldn’t recognize it for what it was.

But Chrollo could.

They had been surrounded by predators in that room. People who loved to tarnish the vulnerable, got a kick out of beating down the weakest people they could find. It was what got them off. Some people may try to paint it as a mental illness that needed help, but it wasn’t mental illness. It was power. Specifically the kind of weak power that demanded you be sadistic to those weaker than you. Superficial bullies. The troupe, as cruel as they were, didn’t need that kind of validation for their own power. That kind of validation was for the weak. But they were around a lot of people like that. Chrollo was intimately acquainted with that shallow power.

Alexandre’s Nen had stood out in the masses. His Nen was different. Not only was it overwhelming in power, in strength, it was deliberate. Focused. While he had imitated a petty power play with Chrollo, his main objective was to set Hisoka off. Normally, his knowledge of their relationship would tell Chrollo it was a power play. Victims never stopped being victims to their abuser, after all. But, no. Something about how deliberately focused his Nen was told Chrollo it wasn’t solely a power play. It was molding. The kind of power focused on shaping someone in its image, cutting out the fat, the excess things someone didn’t need. Excess like Chrollo.

It took a very self assured man with very, very large goals to look at Chrollo Lucilfer and decide he would be useless for his “son”. No, even hold his “son” back.

Thinking back on it, it was the comment about learning the business that made it click.

He said the business, not the circus. It was innocuous enough. A circus was a business.

But the thing was that there were a number of ringleaders in the room. Well over half. And not one of them possessed the kind of power and drive and rigid control Alexandre’s Nen spoke to. So what didn’t make sense, as Chrollo stared at the computer screen, was why Alexandre didn’t have the amount of control over the ring that most of them had. He existed in their circles, provided money, but the money from Ringley Circus didn’t actually really leave beyond minor things like buying more men. It wasn’t involved in the funnel. Sure, several operations weren’t involved in the funnel, but they were more like consultants. He didn’t think the circus qualified as a consultant. It just seemed off.

Chrollo couldn’t leave it be.

He rose from his chair and paced out of his bedroom, his head in a cloud. The manor was quiet. Hisoka was helping Nyx slather on bruise cream. Gon had left with Phinks and Nobunaga. Ky’ia was holed up in the library, waiting for Nyx to stop throwing their controlled, icy fit. Why they were throwing a fit, he didn’t even know. It was going beyond Hisoka being overbearing. Further than Nox taking off with Feitan. That was a mystery he was not about to dive into right now, as much as he wanted to.

He needed Shalnark.

Shalnark’s room was right down the hall. Chrollo didn’t bother with knocking as he opened the door. Shalnark was sitting at his computer like a bird, knees pulled up to his chin as he stared at the screen. More CCTV footage to go through. Green eyes locked on Chrollo and then went back to the screen.

“Yes, danchou?”

“You and Nyx made an interactive map of the money, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And you can overlay specific instances over it?”

“Like what?”

Chrollo stepped inside and shut the door. That got Shalnark’s attention and he perked up.

“Is something wrong?”

Chrollo sat down on the bed behind Shalnark and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“I need you to do something for me. Don’t repeat it to the Morrows unless I say otherwise.”

Shalnark pushed back from his desk to spin his chair and face Chrollo.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to overlay that map with the tour dates of Ringley circus. Specifically on the dates and locations of missing CCTV footage.”

Shalnark blinked.

“Isn’t that the circus Hisoka came from?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t he know?”

“The Morrows are very skilled at deliberate amnesia,” Chrollo said dryly. “How long will it take you?”

“Maybe five minutes.” Shalnark pulled himself back to the desk and got to work. Chrollo wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this. If it was nothing, he wouldn’t _ have _ to, but if it was?

Hisoka could very well have a meltdown. At least he would get two birds with one stone. Alexandre was the right age. He had the right personality. He had too many things about him that didn’t add up. But how would Hisoka feel about being groomed to actually take over the ring? For that matter, how would he feel about the fact that had he said yes, gone “home”, he could have ended all of this years ago?

The fact that his indiscretions had been forgiven, that they continued to be forgiven, was telling. Chrollo had always wondered what kind of pull Hisoka had that they were overlooked. A small time boss versus the entirety of the ring? That made very little sense. And the fact that according to his research, Hisoka had killed several “bad apples” that were acting out enough that they were at risk of discovery. Had his research deduced that they were fine for him to kill, or had Alexandre told him to? The details on paper were vague. Hisoka seemed to have been trimming off the fat for years only for it to come back in full force, more powerful than before, and Chrollo knew he was aware of it.

Every so often someone got caught in the crossfire that was a larger loss to the ring. It didn’t happen often, but it happened. Hisoka was waiting for those few chances. Those off counts. In his strengthening of the ring, he had whittled at its tendons slowly, so slowly, over time. It was a masterful long game.

He still wasn’t sure Hisoka could handle this blow. Amazing as he was, Chrollo wasn’t certain he could sustain the damage.

He didn’t look at the screen as Shalnark worked to add more dates, add more locations, add more evidence of Hisoka’s mistake. No, not his mistake. Chrollo wasn’t certain this counted as a mistake. Perhaps a miscalculation was more kind.

_ “That’s what we say every time.” _

This was going to be the last time. Chrollo wasn’t Chrollo Lucilfer for nothing, and he would be damned if his… if Hisoka was going to be wandering around aimlessly chasing a fantasy for another single year, another single moment.

He didn’t need to look at the screen to know he was right. All of the signs were pointing to right where they had been pointing the entire time.

No matter what, the key to the ring’s destruction had always, always been Hisoka.

“Done.”

Chrollo looked up. He already knew he was right. Right there, on the screen, were tour dates that matched the drains perfectly. He was willing to bet that if they took it a step further and looked for the pack mules, they would find that the circus was a car’s drive away.

Chrollo rose fluidly. He’d tell Hisoka. He’d tell him soon. When he wasn’t with Nyx, when Chrollo could get him alone. He wouldn’t wait long. A few hours at the most.

It needed to finish. His Spiders were itching for a fight. The longer the build up, the sweeter the victory. It had only taken a month. His stung pride was soothed.

“Don’t tell anyone until I talk to Hisoka,” he ordered and swept out the door. Nobunaga and Phinks would be back soon. It was Chrollo’s turn to cook. Maybe he’d cajole Hisoka into the kitchen and talk to him then over a pot of boiling water.

He could hear car doors slam. That was an awful amount of doors for three people getting out of one car … Chrollo extended his En, felt another presence outside, a presence that felt his rather subtle En in a second and clamped down into In. Nobunaga, Phinks, Gon, all present and correct. So what poor soul had they picked up this time? Chrollo wasn’t running a halfway house. Five in a month was enough. Six was really stretching his limits.

A quiet, resigned sigh escaped his lips and he walked down the stairs. There was already a headache setting in. Phinks and Nobunaga did love their strays.

The front door burst open with entirely too much force and there was Gon, flanked by Phinks and Nobunaga and a plethora of bags.

“I texted you. You didn’t answer,” Phinks blurted. Chrollo didn’t betray much with his face, but Phinks could always tell when he was pissed. “He’s not staying.”

“Who isn’t staying?”

Phinks blinked and looked over his shoulder. Chrollo caught a glimpse of ruffled, spiky black hair.

“Oh. Right. You’re short.”

The irritation only grew as Phinks stepped aside to reveal none other than Ging Freecs, looking about as tired and pissed as Chrollo felt. Chrollo could almost sympathize. It wasn’t everyday your teenage son popped up with the Phantom Troupe at the grocery store. That had to induce some kind of migraine.

“Chrollo Lucilfer,” Ging said shortly. Chrollo hadn’t realized that he was _ this _ short. He could practically lift him and hold him out at an arm's length.

“Ging Freecs. You’re in my house.”

“You kidnapped my kid, so, yeah. I’m in your house.”

“I was somewhat removed from the kidnapping portion.”

“You were an accessory to kidnapping. Whatever. Where the fuck is Hisoka?”

“Dad, Hisoka is a little busy right now,” Gon said warningly and Ging rubbed at his eyes.

“This is why I told Daiten to not pick up strays,” Ging muttered. Daiten. The handler, teacher, whatever. Oh.

In hindsight, Ging being the Zodiac actually made a lot of sense. Who else would entrust an eighteen, possibly nineteen year old, with taking down an entire thirty year old sex trafficking ring on their own with literally no help and expect it all to be just fine?

There was a faint presence at the top of the stairs and Chrollo looked over his shoulder to find Nyx there, leaning on the banister for support.

They looked like hell. Their throat was bruised, their arms, their hands, their legs poking out from the basketball shorts. Their dark circles were worse than ever. They were exhausted. Chrollo didn’t even want to consider what their torso looked like. Hisoka had mentioned that this was almost at full power, and he was willing to bet that Nox had only withheld Axis, maybe … Was it Rue? Chloe? Anyways. Nyx had loved it. The entire manor could hear the cackle. He hadn’t seen them since.

They did not look like they loved it now, but at least their aura had a quiet sense of vindication underneath some kind of controlled rage they were too tired to cover right now. That family was so fucked up.

Their hands moved to sign at Gon. His sign had progressed enough to recognize the sentence.

“_ Why the fuck is your dad here? _”

“_ He found us at the --- _” Was that supermarket? Chrollo was going to guess supermarket.

“_ Did you tell him? _”

“_ He knows more than me. _”

“_ Right. _”

“Nyx, shouldn’t you be in bed?” Chrollo asked and was treated to a glare that rivaled Nox’s. It was so cold. They signed something he couldn’t catch beyond “Hisoka” and “bed” and started limping down the stairs. Chrollo looked over at Gon, who was bright red.

“What did they say?”

“Er … They said you worry less about them being in bed and worry more about getting Hisoka in your bed so he’ll leave them 'the fuck alone'.”

Oh, so they were in a very nasty mood.

Ging was staring at Nyx incredulously. Their Nen was particularly nasty. They were normally so controlled with it. Why were they so mad? Without even a word, they limped past him and made for the kitchen, Nobunaga and Phinks on their tail to get out of _ this _ conversation.

“Are they always like that?” He asked Gon lowly and Gon just grinned up at him.

“No, they’re just mad Nox ran off with Feitan instead of coming home. They’ll get over it. Also Hisoka fusses a lot. It would piss anyone off.”

Ging looked between Gon and the heavily disrespected Chrollo. Chrollo was not bothered in the least. Anyone would be in a nasty mood after dealing with your older brother having to slather bruise cream over your back. Not that Nyx was pissed that Nox had injured them so badly. It was probably fair, to them. Their slip up had put Nox through that pain. They seemed to follow some kind of rule of equivalence.

Anyways, he was used to being disrespected at this rate. There was no use in getting worked up over it. Nox would just do it again, as much as they liked, and he was beginning to find it endearing. And now apparently Nyx was doing it, too.

He still couldn’t figure out what the real reason for that rage was. The Morrows weren’t prone to hypocrisy, and Nyx did the same kind of excessive damage to Nox, he assumed. So why were they mad?

He needed to worry less about Morrows and more about Freecs.

“Why are you here?” Chrollo asked bluntly. There was a yelp from the kitchen. He ignored it.

“Gon seems to want to stay until you finish,” Ging replied. He looked pretty pissed. Chrollo didn’t blame him. Having Gon for a child had to just be a continual heart attack. Still a shit dad. “I want to know where he is since telling him no is pointless.”

“You could easily overpower him,” Chrollo pointed out. Now that Ging wasn’t in In, he could see how much tightly compacted power existed in his body. The man could easily punch a glacier and shatter it without having to call up much energy at all. It would be akin to a sneeze. Hisoka, as always, was right. They didn’t have time to piss him off.

“I’m not gonna manhandle and beat my kid,” Ging snapped. Point for Ging, apparently. He was touching the bare minimum bar. “Someone got him to unlock his Nen, so that means he’s making progress, so there’s no reason he’ll get for me saying no.”

The unspoken went between them. Gon’s Nen wasn’t becoming ugly in their presence. It was still as pure and carefree as the day Chrollo met him. To be fair, he couldn’t corrupt the kid if he tried. No, life did that, and Gon had gone through the kind of hell that would ruin him and it hadn’t managed to make a dent beyond an extensive and likely terrifying stay in the ICU. He was fine. Anything short of literally torturing him for maybe a month, which would be entirely unproductive, wouldn’t do shit to that kid. He was the way that he was.

Chrollo stared him down, reexamining his initial assessment of him, bringing in Hisoka’s assessment, trying to piece together the familial puzzle in front of him. Now that he saw them side by side, Gon could have just been a young Ging. And Ging was just an older Gon with one too many knocks in the slump of his shoulders, the set in his mouth. It was unnerving. With the constant presence of the Morrows, he forgot that families were actually generally supposed to look biologically similar. Not identical and then wildly different. Just similar.

“You were the Zodiac that gave this mission to Daiten and Hisoka.”

“I told him not to drag Hisoka into it, but yeah.”

Another clue to add to the assessment.

“Why didn’t you?” Something flickered across Ging’s face and he looked over at Gon. They were only separated in height by an inch now.

“If you’re living here, you might as well go help them unload the groceries.” There was another yelp from the kitchen. “Maybe help that feral creature in there calm down.”

Gon was so sharp and so stupid at the same time. He didn’t even notice that this was “adult talk”. He just grinned at Ging and took off for the kitchen, taking this as evidence that Ging wasn’t going to fight him on this.

Silence stretched out obnoxiously. Chrollo almost wanted to get violent with him for abandoning not just Gon, but Hisoka. Leaving him to do it on his own. How strange of him.

“This mission started a few months after Gon was born. There was no mother.” The urge to beat his head in died significantly.

“No mother at all?”

“Gon was an accident,” Ging said roughly. “I don’t regret it, but he was an accident, in the early days of developing Greed Island. We made a card that can induce pregnancy in any biological human form. It was being developed, and went haywire, and Gon happened. After that Greed Island kind of became my playground for him, when he got older. It wasn’t supposed to end up the way it did.”

Chrollo wasn’t sure how to take that. Ging was both his mother and his father. That meant …

“That’s why he’s such a natural talent. He was made through Nen.”

“Yes. Though my genetics played a part. I was, too. I tried to tell him the truth, but he didn’t want to know. So don’t tell him. Some people may consider it … Well. You know how people are.” Chrollo knew. Very well.

“And you couldn’t go undercover because it would bring your cover into question, because there was no additional parent to keep you in check.”

“Yes.” Ging looked massively uncomfortable. He was renowned as a recluse, but Chrollo suspected that he had massive social anxiety. Discussing the fact that he had been pregnant once with a total stranger had to be a massive stretch for him. He wasn’t going to award him any pity. Though, the accidental pregnancy made sense. With his reputation, Chrollo doubted he could even manage sex without performance issues.

“Why not help Hisoka?”

“You’re kidding, right? People think I’m some kinda cryptid. I generate way too much fucking chatter just as myself. Any proximity to Hisoka would draw notice and make shit harder for him to add that to his … Whatever the fuck it is. Mask. Actually mask doesn’t even cover the depths he goes to. People wouldn’t get us being seen together in any capacity and us not fighting.”

Chrollo stared at him. Ging stared right back.

“What I want to know is what you intend to do with my kid,” Ging said lowly. It was a fair question. He was a Double Star Hunter, a Zodiac, and the only thing that kept him from advancing was a hatred of people. Placing someone like his kid in Chrollo’s hands was probably terrifying for him. After all, Hisoka was right. Hisoka understood people intimately, and if he was good at anything, it was finding someone’s weak points. It was a far more deadly power than any Nen capability.

“Nothing,” Chrollo replied simply. “I never intended to do anything with him. The twins like him, so if they want to waste time teaching him, I see no reason to hold them back. I’ve found trying to tell a Morrow no is like talking to a brick wall. It would be a waste of my time.”

“And this Ky’ia Gon mentioned? How do they factor into this?”

“Ky’ia is from the Ji’Tak. I’m sure you know as a Ruins Hunter what that means.” Ging knew. “I initially brought them in to read Hisoka’s mind after Edwin hired me to catch the twins, which led to the troupe’s involvement, and then they convinced me not to kill them. And after they showed Gon how to open his nodes.”

“I look away for five seconds and the fucking Morrows team up with the Phantom Troupe, get themselves a receiver, and kidnap my fucking kid,” Ging muttered. He was irritated. Again, Chrollo couldn’t blame him.

Having him flip on them at any moment and take Gon would be inopportune. With Nox having some kind of mental health episode, Hisoka fussing over Nyx, the world falling apart all around them, the troupe catching on to the change taking place in both him and Feitan and, objectively, themselves, they just did not have the capacity for another crisis. He needed to trust them. Chrollo could win someone’s superficial trust. He needed to win a stressed out and worried father’s absolute trust.

“I need to speak to Hisoka about something. You started all of this. You should join us.”

“Fine, but if you give me one more Zoldyck to babysit, I’m walking out and dragging Gon with me.”

“What?” Oh. Right. He needed to deal with the Illumi problem. Add that to the crisis list.

“Your man, Phinks. He thinks I should babysit Kalluto and Gon when you all strike so Kalluto doesn’t go running off.” Oh, Phinks. Solving problems the way he solved problems.

“They’ll have to have a vantage point,” Chrollo hummed. “I was going to let them watch the twins since they lied to Illumi for us.”

“You want me to have my kid watch the twins rip people to shreds.”

“He’ll know how to effectively handle pedophiles, won’t he?”

“I…” Ging looked scandalized, and then thoughtful, and then scandalized again. Chrollo was in no mood to convince him. Instead, he pulled out his phone and sent Hisoka a text. He shouldn’t tell Hisoka this in front of him, but when weighing the reaction of Hisoka learning this in front of Ging and the reaction of him trying to contain a raging Nox when they came back and found that Ging had whisked Gon away despite Gon’s protests, he was going to go with the first.

“Come with me,” he said shortly and climbed the stairs. Ging trailed along behind him. Chrollo was willing to bet he had an immensely powerful hatsu. A pity he couldn’t get him to pull it out and use it.

He needed to not think about the small pleasures. The pleasures likely two weeks or so from now would far outweigh such petty things. Then maybe he could antagonize Ging. As a Ruins Hunter, it wouldn’t take much. There was a lot of stuff in this house that would give Ging a heart attack.

A lot of stuff that was in Chrollo’s study. He pushed the door open to the disaster said study had become. Strings all over the room, tape sticking newspaper clippings to sixth century tomes, a printout of a shipping manifest stuck to a twelfth century Tudyck vase…

Yeah. It was a mess.

Ging looked around the room with some emotion Chrollo couldn’t read.

“You know,” Ging said as he lifted a photo to peek at the carefully preserved and sealed Cordet hymnals there, “I told Gon that it was important to still have surprises in life. Because not a whole lot surprises me anymore. I think I could have done without this surprise.”

“The twins needed a place to work.” Fearless brats, the both of them. They had boldly driven him out of his study and he couldn’t even find a reason to tell them to know their place. Probably because this was their place.

“This is simultaneously a Ruin Hunter’s worst nightmare and a Blacklist Hunter’s orgasmic wet dream,” Ging muttered as he followed a string to another photo. Chrollo knew now the rumors of Ging’s intellect were true. He could see the cogs turning to put together in seconds what took most troupe members weeks to understand. It had even taken Chrollo perhaps a few hours. To be fair, it had only been half set up then. And this was a decade’s worth of shit.

“They’re rather good, aren’t they?” Chrollo murmured. “Hisoka barely even has to direct them nowadays.”

“That’s got to rankle him,” Ging replied as he stopped at another picture, studied it with a set mouth. “He should be proud, really. He’s gotten them to a level beyond some of the best Blacklist Hunters I know. You’re lucky it was Kurapika you pissed off, not them.”

“Mmm. We did piss them off. They just prioritized.” The picture Ging had stopped at was of Uvogin, his face viciously scribbled out. “Though, to be fair, while he did the most damage to them, he did betray us. Very deeply. From the start. So I think they sympathized with that.”

“Is that why you’re helping?” Ging glanced over at him.

“Among other reasons. Quite a lot of things can happen in a month.”

“With you and Hisoka?”

“Mmm.”

The door creaked open and Hisoka narrowed his eyes rather dangerously at Ging standing there.

“Chrollo.”

“Mmm?”

“Why is he here?”

Ging stared across the room. Electricity crackled in the air.

“Because he’s your Zodiac. And Gon gave him a heart attack at the grocery store.”

Hisoka blinked several times. Chrollo watched his cogs turn now, process, process again, and come to his conclusion.

“Well. Good thing you had the sense to stay out of my way.”

“I always have sense,” Ging replied dismissively and focused back on the complex puzzle stretched across the room. “You did a good job. I was just mentioning to Chrollo that they’re performing above some of the best Blacklist Hunters.”

“Were you now,” Hisoka said flatly as he finally stepped in and shut the door. He was still in a bad mood from Nyx’s tantrum. It made Chrollo wonder how much worse Nox was. Last time they got busted up Hisoka wouldn’t even go near them.

“Yes. I was. This right here clued me in.” Ging tapped a piece of paper. “It’s such a tiny detail but it ties in about five operations.”

Chrollo leaned over to look at it. A carpentry business. From the small type, he could see that it wasn’t exactly a laundering operation, but multiple members of the ring utilized their service. It took him another second to remember why it mattered. Word of mouth between the five different operations about a business they liked enabled the twins to take a step further and get a clue in that they were working together in some other capacity and from there they were able to track down the elusive laundering operation in a cafe that they all used to make their trails get muddy and blend together.

“Nox actually got that one. You have to pay attention to what people like,” Hisoka said and strode across the room to slump down in his favored armchair. Chrollo briefly recalled him answering questions from that chair as Nox laid on their back to stare at the puzzle.

“They’ve got good gut instincts.” Ging still hadn’t sat down. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Chrollo?”

Chrollo watched Hisoka with laser focus. The words fell out of his mouth. It felt like slow motion.

“The head is Alexandre Ringley.”

Hisoka stiffened.

“What?”

He needed to tell the truth. The full truth. Hisoka was going to feel guilty, he was going to feel ugly, he was going to be a wreck, but he deserved the truth.

“I’ve been thinking about it since we got back from the gala.” Ging was paying more attention to Hisoka than Chrollo. To be fair, Chrollo was also paying more attention to Hisoka. “You said he was a small boss. I checked. None of his money joins the funnel. And then there was the fact that you are only alive on his say so. You don’t even know how many people you killed before Daiten found you. You’re a severe risk to the ring. You can snap at any moment. Alexandre doesn’t have that kind of pull as a small boss. It’s just not logical. You shouldn’t have even managed to kill as many people as you did without incurring some kind of wrath you couldn’t have survived at that age. It didn’t make sense. And then there is the factor that on occasion Alexandre gives you names to ‘play with’. You’ve handled it masterfully, occasionally killing people who will actually harm the ring in the crossfire, but for the most part you just cut out risks. You’ve been operating as his own assassin. And when we met at the gala, his Nen was easily more powerful than anyone in that room. He would be on par with me at my best. It wasn’t ‘content with small boss’ Nen. It was ‘I am the boss’ Nen. So I had Shalnark pull up that interactive map he and Nyx made a while ago. He put the tour dates of the circus over the drains with missing CCTV. They all matched. Sometimes a day or two off, but they matched. He’s the head.”

Hisoka didn’t have a single emotion on his face. Chrollo wanted to hold him, kill for him, make it all end.

“I’m sorry.” He meant it.

“He asked me to come home when I was nineteen,” Hisoka said bluntly. It took Chrollo a moment to grasp the implications.

Hisoka had been twenty when he found the twins.

Ging took pity on him.

“How long?”

A mask slipped back in place. Hisoka looked perfectly calm and composed.

“Two weeks,” Hisoka said shortly. “We can finish in two weeks.”

One week, give or take, until Nox came home. Time enough to coordinate the assault and strike.

Ging pushed himself off the bookcase he’d been leaning on, uncrossed his arms.

“Have Gon give you my number. There’s at least six places you need to hit, and each location has at least four users nearly on par with most Hunters. I’ll get you more people. I have favors to call in. And I’ll be back to babysit. Promise.”

Chrollo wanted to say he didn’t need more people. They didn’t, objectively, but the odds were still excessively not in their favor.

“One thing,” Chrollo said and Ging raised an eyebrow. “You don’t turn on us after it’s all said and done. You can do it later.”

After all, they were Hunters. They were supposed to arrest or kill Spiders.

“After it’s all said and done, I don’t think any of them would want to,” Ging replied bluntly and Chrollo remembered that they were actually doing the _ right _ thing for once. How unfortunate.

“Get pediatricians for when we finish,” Hisoka said suddenly. Both Chrollo and Ging stared at him blankly. Hisoka stared back. “There will be children. That is the point. There are injured and traumatized children.”

“Oh. Right.” Ging had apparently forgotten children needed doctors. To be fair, so did Chrollo.

“Since Nyx is out of commission with a temper fit, Chrollo, dear, would you get Shalnark working on a fund for therapy and medical services and funeral services and family reunification?”

“Therapy?” Chrollo echoed. Hisoka kept staring at him.

“Or we could just let another entire generation grow up like me and the twins. Which would you prefer?”

“I wasn’t arguing.”

Ging watched the back and forth like he was at a tennis match.

“You guys can figure out the logistics. Get my number, text me, and I’ll shoot you a list of people I have to help.”

And with that he was walking out, hands shoved in his pants, shoulders hunched, likely going to go tell Gon goodbye. If he could even manage that much.

And Chrollo was left to pick up the pieces that hadn’t fallen yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we gooooo. Hope I built up to the reveal correctly! Let me know if you liked it! It's time to shift into some angst and action!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	58. The Bruises and The Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox and Feitan have a discussion about family.

Nox was taking their time today. Every centimeter took a good ten seconds as they spread out their aura to brace their pelvis. It didn’t hurt as much, when they did it like this, spent ten, fifteen minutes putting it in place.

They didn’t want it to hurt today.

Partially because their aura was always faintly tinged with pain, so much a part of it no one noticed anymore, and they didn’t want that in this moment. Partially because they wanted to be soothing, calming under these sheets. Primarily, though, they didn’t want their surge of aura to wake up Feitan.

It was their third day. Nox had slept for a whopping sixteen hours, then been up for twenty four and powered through the last few hours to fix their schedule, and now this was their first morning actually waking up next to him. He had stayed up with them, sustained with his Nen, switched between watching TV and watching blacksmithing videos and the sign videos on his phone. Ri had stayed, too, only vanished when they fell asleep properly last night. He’d kept trying to steal Feitan’s ice cream. Feitan eventually gave up and put some in a cup for him. It made Nox want to cry. Or kiss him. They still weren’t sure.

They couldn’t see him. At some point in the night the two had turned on their sides with his hand gently set on their side. A normal person wouldn’t heal from these kinds of injuries for at least two weeks. Nox was managing it in possibly five days. The Nen was helping the process. Bruises were easier than open wounds.

It was endearing how even in his sleep he was being conscious of their injuries. His breaths were soft on their neck. Nox didn’t want to wake him up. His aura had never been so calm.

Both times they had spent the night together in his room he had slept on the floor. This was different.

He smelled nice.

Nox had never considering sharing Nen with other people, what that would look like. Sure, they had shared a little with Gon, but being in this close proximity made Nox realize it was possible to fully share with someone else. They knew because they were doing it right now.

Not the way they did with Nyx. The continual figure eight wasn’t there. But Nox and Nyx had only formed that after constant training and refining their Nen. No, this would be more akin to a heartbeat. Feitan’s and Nox’s, bleeding into one another, throbbing in time. They could feel it.

They had never considered that their natural ability could transfer to someone else. His aura wasn’t being stolen. They weren’t leeching it away. That meant he had subconsciously agreed, and Nox was loathe to pull away and wake him up. The sun was shining in through the window, and they just decided to enjoy the quiet peace.

Their pelvis was almost done. Just a little more, and it would be complete.

The last piece was pressed into place and they finally reached over to pick up their new phone and check the texts.

Nyx had messaged last night. Told them Chrollo found the head, that the head was Alexandre, to come home.

Nox stared at the last message they’d sent to Nyx.

**I’d only make it worse.**

Nyx hadn’t replied. It was rather cruel of them to leave that knife in Nox’s chest. They might as well have said Nox should just give up. Nox wasn’t going to give in. Not yet.

They were in some kind of silent fight right now. Nox knew what it was about. Knew what they weren’t saying. They knew because they deliberately started it. Nyx always knew, from the moment Nox hadn’t defended them to Hisoka when the two fought about the sharing pain. And Nox knew they themselves were being malicious, with how they went overboard. Sure, Nyx had liked it. There was no way they didn’t. They knew the kind of destruction Nox had carved that they would never allow themselves, and they had lived through Nox vicariously.

The after effects, however? Sure, Nyx was healing at the same rate as them. But they felt the pain they woke up to the next morning. They had been as stiff and sore and tender as Nox. They hated it. As satisfying as it was, the fact that Nox had gone so overboard was hurting them badly. Nox wanted them to feel it, to drive the point home, to say what they couldn’t say out loud. They needed to understand.

It was shitty of them. But Nyx had done the same the second time they’d done Black Gravity, and again, and again. They’d done it four times now. The difference was they just expected Nox to be okay with it. Not being able to talk, to speak, for a week. Their Nen healing had gotten better over time, but not being able to speak was stripping away their agency. They were lucky Hisoka knew them so well, knew what they were saying without them having to say it. They weren’t always going to be so lucky.

And Nox just had to be okay with it.

All of it.

Nyx was an overwhelming, powerful presence. There was a lot they could argue about, but when Nyx had conviction about anything? Real, honest, true conviction? It was pointless.

Nox had wanted to drive the point home. It was petty of them. They knew that. Hisoka was probably disappointed in them, but he was disappointed in Nyx, too. They were both just two walking failures.

Their thoughts were making Feitan stir and their heart fell. They had wanted this to be a good morning. The second they opened their texts they had gotten ugly. Nox wished they could whisper “I’m sorry”.

Oh well. They had a lifetime, however short, to worry about Nyx. They had this moment now.

Feitan groaned and rubbed at his eyes, mumbled something in his mother tongue. Nox gingerly rolled over so they could prop themselves up on his chest and look down. He blinked up at them and they tilted their head. Their mass of curls were just barely touching their shoulders now. They had guessed right at the length.

Feitan’s dark eyes were cute when muddled with sleep. They almost looked like their true color, gray, in this lighting. He reached up to toy with a loose curl.

“Still very pretty.”

His lips were chapped. He’d forgotten to get lip balm. They’d have to get some later. Nox reached with their free hand to run a finger through the permanent worry line between his brows before they finally sat back and up to sign.

“ _ Good morning. _ ”

“Good morning. You are in good mood. Not normally a morning person.” Feitan sat up and stretched lazily, cracked his neck. “Should we get breakfast?”

Nox crinkled their nose briefly.

“ _ Brush teeth first. _ ”

“Well, yes.” Feitan slid out of bed. He hadn’t even realized. Then again, you had to be used to it to notice. Nox wasn’t sure if they should tell him. They weren’t sharing now that he was awake.

Nox stepped out of the bed to join him and frowned at their legs. They were still pretty ugly. How were they going to explain this if they were going out in public? Clothes only covered so much.

Feitan caught them looking before he stepped in the bathroom.

“Hemophilia,” he said. Nox looked up.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Blood disorder. It does not clot properly. Like your diet deficiencies that make you bruise easily. You have cut on head. Hemophilia plus car accident. If anyone asks.”

Oh. He’d known what they were thinking without them having to say it. They added it to the list of reasons to swoon like a schoolgirl.

Feitan closed the door to go to the bathroom and Nox sat back down to check their social media. They’d uploaded the stingray before they went to Gorten and hadn’t checked it since. There were plenty of interactions.

They scrolled through the comments. It seemingly blew up overnight. People were asking when they’d set up a store for prints. Nox found that amusing. They didn’t even have a cohesive style set. They’d been leaning towards bright pastels lately, but they also uploaded plenty of dark abstract images.

**You’re all over with being online. I wish you were around more. You worry some of us :/**

Nox pursed their lips as they opened up the comment and stared at it. Comments of this variety were coming more and more often. Nox had never really addressed them.

The text box stared back at them. They had been more consistent before. Things had changed in the past two months or so. There had been a lot of shit going on in the month before Hisoka got taken by Chrollo. And then with the chaos of including the troupe, training Gon, navigating this relationship with Feitan … They just didn’t know where to start. No time really for their online presence, their one hold on a fake life they had crafted for themselves.

Not that they really had any fake friends. No, they’d been polite, but kept people at a distance. They just didn’t want to lie.

**Sorry :/ You guys shouldn’t worry about me. I’m good over here. Just got some family issues and a sorta boyfriend taking up a lot of time. And I’m getting ready for an exam.**

Having so many followers was a curse. Too many people had notifications on for them.

**Awww**

**Will we finally get a pic of you?? With him??**

**What exam??**

**Im so happy for you PEG THAT ASS**

**Wait wat exam i thot you finished school**

**Is he a THOT**

Nox considered ignoring them all, but they couldn’t leave it hanging like that.

**No pics. Y’all know the rules. And he is NOT a thot mind ur manners u heathens. His ass is peggable tho. And The Hunter Exam.**

They probably shouldn’t have said that. Their comments exploded again and they just closed the app.

They weren’t even sure they wanted to take the exam. It made sense. It would only be a few weeks, tops, if they didn’t wreck everyone in the first test. It would be easy. They didn’t actually have to do anything afterwards, though dating Feitan might turn awkward. Or even having him as an ex.

Though, to be fair, the thought of that was a little thrilling. They couldn’t say they didn’t get a kick out of a forbidden romance. Might as well take it up a notch. Besides, Hisoka was a Hunter, and look at who was going to be warming his bed soon enough. It would be easy.

They could just take it just to have the license and then go do whatever. Maybe sell some prints. Chill out a bit. Let Nyx be the perfect one and focus on blowing off some steam.

The bathroom door opened again and they stood up to take their turn. Feitan tilted his head at them. They knew that look.

“You are worried.”

“ _ Check your phone, _ ” they signed and slipped around him, their hand passing naturally over his stomach.

He really was very peggable. They were not going to have that conversation for  _ awhile. _

They ran through their morning routine rather quickly. Pee, brush your teeth, there was a decided lack of skincare beyond the three basic components of facewash, sunscreen, and moisturizer he’d managed to get, so they did that, ran a wide tooth comb through their hair and fluffed it up. They could go without makeup for a week, though their dark circles looked horrendous. No eye cream could ever fix that mess.

They still couldn’t believe they had actually cut their hair. Their head felt so light. What was normally a ten minute affair of working out the tangles and pulling it back had turned into thirty seconds of combing it out and shaking it out. Amazing. And they were right. The curls covered the tiny fuckups. If there were any. They couldn’t tell.

Utterly determined to have a good day, they sauntered out of the bathroom to find Feitan standing there, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow. They were not going to have a good day. Feitan did not avoid topics like their family.

Well, fuck.

“You do not want to go back?” He asked lowly. Nox let out a huff of air and reached for the notepad on the dresser.

**I’ll make it worse.**

Feitan looked them up and down. He was confused.

“I do not see how you being there for him would make things worse. Do you think they hate you?”

Nox wasn’t sure they could say it. They could think about it. Think and think and think and feel like the jackass that they were, but that didn’t mean they could say it.

**It’s complicated. ** Trusting him was one thing. Bringing him in close was one thing. But they liked him because he wasn’t involved. They liked him because he was like an oasis away from it all, because he wasn’t a part of it, because he didn’t need to understand. Sometimes they needed to hide from the crushing pressure.

“Complicated or you do not want to talk about it?”

**Nyx is mad at me. Hisoka is probably disappointed.**

“He argued with me,” Feitan blurted. “He wanted me to bring you home. I told him no. Because you didn’t want to go. It took me ten minutes to get him to tell me shoe size.”

If Nox wasn’t so set in their resolve, their need to drive the point home, their heart would break a little. But, no. They needed to do this. They needed Nyx to understand. This would help Hisoka in the end. Breaking their resolve now would just be acknowledging that Nyx wins. Nyx couldn’t keep winning.

**Remember how I told you their second makes it impossible to sign?**

“Yes.”

**It’s like mine. The condition is bruises all up to our elbows. Every blood vessel bursts. Right down to our fingertips. They made their condition first. They didn’t ask. It was in the heat of combat, so I could forgive it, but they said didn’t say sorry. They just told me to make mine worse, but I couldn’t really make anything worse than that, and they know that. They KNOW. I already lost the ability to speak once. They don’t have the right to just take it away again. They just expected me to be okay with theirs. They’ve used it four times. I have done it twice, and minimized the damage as much as I could the first time, given the circumstances, even when I was… Anyways. I can’t talk. I can’t speak. I can’t write or sign. They take it from me with no apologies, no I’m sorry, they just do it and expect me to be okay with it. And ignore me when I’m pissed.**

Feitan read it. He read it twice. And then a third time before he looked back up at Nox.

“You were punishing them.” He wasn’t getting it. It wasn’t about punishment. It was about letting them know that Nox wasn’t going to keep making themselves small.

**No. I was making a point. A point they need to sink in, because they won’t talk about it. Won’t consider it. We can argue about a lot, but when they are really honestly set on their bullshit arguing with them is like telling a hurricane to go back to the ocean. Hisoka wanted me to come home because he thinks we can talk it out. We can’t. He tried. I’ve tried. They won’t even let me start the conversation. They need to sit and really think about what they’re doing to us, and need to realize that I am not doing it anymore.**

Feitan studied the notepad. Nox knew he knew. He knew what they were saying.

“You are not talking about their condition.”

**I’m not. I’m talking about the fact that we’re killing each other and I’m sick of it.**

Feitan let out a breath. He almost looked relieved. Nox realized in that moment that he had worried about them. Genuinely worried about them.

“Is it not your culture?” He asked. Nox didn’t waver.

**Two more corpses aren’t going to honor the dead. I’d rather live for them. Culture is about the people. You don’t honor the dead by joining them. And I don’t want the responsibility of Nyx’s death on me. I don’t want it. I didn’t want to have to do this to them. I shouldn’t have. I don’t want to sound like a dad that beats their kid. But if they want this, they need to know what this fully is. From my side. Not theirs. And they need to know if they are just going to keep making choices for me, I’m not going to keep holding back when they won’t even bother to hold back for me.**

“I promised Hisoka I would have you home in week.”

**If they can’t get over themselves in a week, then this didn’t work, anyways.**

That was the crux of it. This was Nox’s last ditch attempt. They knew their silence had been louder than thunder. They knew Nyx knew. The fight that had wasted a week of everyone’s time had just been evidence that talking to them was pointless. Nox had tried to skillfully introduce the topic many times. Made sure to apologize every time their carelessness introduced an injury. Nyx shut everything down. Manipulated the topic away. They wouldn’t budge. Nox had hoped Ky’ia would knock a little sense into Nyx’s head, but Nyx trudged on, bullheaded and tireless.

The knowledge that this was all coming to an end only heightened their sense of urgency. A full out battle could easily kill them. Hisoka would not be on his A game with the additional worry that the twins would be far out of reach, could die in one blow, simultaneously. That worry could get him killed. There was no way they could talk him down from taking on Alexandre. And Nox knew what Alexandre could do. His hatsu was terrifying. If anything, Hisoka had the best chance of survival because of Alexandre’s fucked, disgusting feelings towards him. And Hisoka would not hesitate to point that out, use it to his advantage.

No, the sharing pain needed to go, and in two weeks. They knew there was a chance they would lose their Specialist ability with the serum. But the twins were strong enough on their own to manage just fine. Nox’s track record was evidence of that, and Nyx’s Orbitwalk was virtually impenetrable.

“Would you not be Specialist anymore?” So Feitan had figured out sharing Nen was linked to sharing pain. It wasn’t a huge leap to make.

**I don’t know. There’s a chance. It’s not really all it’s cracked up to be anyways.**

Nox legitimately was unsure given the events of this morning. They had unconsciously shared Nen with someone else. It may just lose its potency. They may have to relearn how. They didn’t know.

“Are you sure, so close to strike?”

**It needs to happen now. Hisoka will face Alexandre and his hatsu is … Well it’s bad. He needs to be on top of it, and cutting down one more thing to worry about will help him. A lot.**

Feitan reached and picked up one hand, mottled with fading yellow bruises, turned it over to brush his fingers down their palm.

“All this for family?” He asked softly. Nox finally let themselves feel something other than steely resolve. Here they were, standing in front of Feitan, bruised and hideous, broken beyond repair, and all he could do was touch them like they were made of something holy. They didn’t know what they had done to deserve this.

Not wanting to break the moment, but having to to speak, they pulled their hand from his grasp to write.

**Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. For anyone I love.**

Feitan didn’t care that the moment was broken. He reached out and grabbed their hand again to press a kiss to their palm. Nox let him, their heart hammering in their chest. They finally understood those cheesy romance movies they mocked.

If this was what love felt like, they could understand moving mountains to keep it.

Were they in love? Was he in love?

“We get breakfast,” he said into their hand. Another gentle kiss, and something bloomed in Nox’s chest.

He was. He may not say it, may not know, but he was.

The two of them may be a pair of murderous, fucked up punks with questionable hairdressing skills, but Nox couldn’t help but feel like that was what made them perfect together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: themorrowfam


	59. The Roof and The Vet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Nyx have a talk about what it means to lose on the roof.

Nyx was still pissed. They were on six days now and Nox still hadn’t come home. They were keeping it together after their initial hissy fit, but the irritation was scratching under their skin, begging to be released.

Hisoka wasn’t in any better shape. Nyx had tried to get him to open up, but he was clammed up tight. They couldn’t get through to him, couldn’t get him to talk about it. Nox was better at handling him like this. Not even Chrollo was making progress. It was strange how it was starting to feel like Chrollo understood them. Over the past month, Hisoka had gotten close, Nox had managed to get close via Chrollo holding them over a toilet to vomit, but the two of them had just been in a continual orbit around each other, watching, waiting. There was some degree of suspicion there that was vanishing when they exchanged quiet glances over Hisoka’s head as he poured over work.

They were both worried about someone they loved, and that somehow made them feel a little closer to him.

Ging had sent them a list of people and their capabilities to match up teams. Nine people. Nine trustworthy people that could make a sizable dent of damage. It wasn’t much, but the quality here was more important than the quantity. Ten Spiders, three Morrows, Ky’ia, and Ging’s nine. Twenty three people.

Morel Mackernasy. His two former students, Shoot McMahon and Knuckle Bine. Knov. Palm Siberia, Knov’s former student turned Chimera Ant. The remaining Chimera Ant Exterminators. For some reason, they all decided they owed Gon a favor after the events, and Ging had cashed in on it at Gon’s request. Biscuit Krueger, the brilliant and renowned teacher, known for her extensive transformation capabilities. Leorio, for his specific emission ability Ging thought would pair well with Feitan, and then Kurapika. Chrollo was almost certain that was a joke, but, no, Ging thought he would actually work, given his previous knowledge of the ring and the fact that he considered it important enough to keep it secret, put his revenge on hold. Making him fit in a team that wouldn’t end in a fiery cataclysm was taking up all of Hisoka’s time. And then there was Basho, whom Kurapika had vouched for, a strange man who conjured whatever he wished through haikus. That could easily be a dangerous ability, if he could write fast enough.

Hisoka was stalling on pairing up the twins. He knew. He knew exactly what Nox was doing, that they were both butting heads. The fact that he was stalling aggravated Nyx to no end because that meant he really did believe that Nox was going to win this time. Their previous argument system had been abandoned sometime during this month as the two of them felt the pressure build. This was purely just Nox and Nyx and the chasm between them.

The bruises had already faded, but the pain remained.

That pain had led them to come up here, to the roof, to watch the sun set. Crickets were chirping. Summer was almost on them. They had a little over a week to go.

Ky’ia had tried to get them to talk earlier. Nyx just hadn’t been able to manage it. They had promised Ky’ia they’d do their best with them, try to make it work. But this was a harsh thing to talk about. The fact that Nox was finally abandoning them.

They weren’t so dramatic that they really felt that way. Nox was always going to be their twin. They would always come when Nyx needed them. But the kind of damage they had done was such a deliberate and pointed statement. Nyx had almost forgotten what it looked like when they snapped. Not at the world, but at them.

Nyx made their points coldly, with calculated fury, uncaring of the damage they did in the process. Nox wasn’t like that. They very much did care about the damage they did in the process, and they used that care to make the statement that much more boldly. A cold fire, if there was such a thing.

Nyx knew why Nox was doing this, staying away, letting them sit and fume. In some ways, they were crueler than Nyx, especially when they cared. It had been stamped all over Nyx’s skin the moment they were told that Nox wasn’t coming home.

_ “If this is what you want, here. Taste it. Marinate in it for awhile.” _

They knew. They didn’t want to budge.

It was always going to be Nox’s mistake that was going to get them killed.

This time, though, it had very nearly been Nyx’s, and Nox was the one that saved them. All of the skillful avoidance of the topic, all of the stamping out of the fire, all of the refusal to let Nox voice their plea had compounded with interest, and it was now a very steep price to pay.

They had driven Nox to this point. Nyx didn’t want to feel bad, but they did.

They still were not going to budge.

Sharing pain was holy. It was all they had left. It was everything. It had to be reclaimed in fire and blood and through the corpses of their enemies.

It was all that was left. Why couldn’t Nox understand that it could be saved?

There was a flicker below them, a presence on the balcony. It was dark now. Nyx kept staring at the sunset. Hisoka could try to plead Nox’s case, but they weren’t going to listen.

Nyx was going to die with Nox. That was how it was meant to be. They were born with this, and it was all that was left of the home that had been burnt to the ground. They weren’t going to spit on the last breaths of a dying legacy.

Soft footsteps, and then Hisoka sat beside them. He should be worrying about his own problems right now, not concerning himself with theirs. He had enough on his shoulders, and now Nox had gone and worn them down even more.

“Miss them?” He asked. Nyx kept staring at the dying sun. He could save his cocoa comfort for Gon.

They did miss them. It was only a few days, but with the circumstances it felt like lifespans. Really, though, they had been missing them since Jun.

Hisoka was working himself up to say something. Nyx hated it when he did that. He always knew what to say, how to bust down the stubbornness in moments like these.

“I loved someone once,” Hisoka said. He didn’t look at them. Just watched the last of the dying rays. “Before I found you two, after Daiten died. He was a vet student. His name was Yuki. I thought I could have a life with him.”

Nyx felt a stone drop in their stomach. Hisoka hadn’t even started, and they already knew Nox was going to win. He had that tone that would always win them over. Damn them both. Nyx wasn’t ready. They were never ready.

“He was … Well. I’m not going to tell you what he was like, but he was very similar to Ky’ia. I’m sure that will tell you all you need. I met him while running. We started out as jogging mates, and then we started getting coffee after, and then we were going on dinner dates, and you know how the rest goes. We almost moved in together.” Hisoka didn’t have to look at them. “He found out the truth one day when I forgot to close my laptop. A tiny mistake. A glance and then a closer examination cost him his life.”

Nyx’s hands didn’t move. The stars were starting to appear. Nyx knew every single constellation. They’d learned them in the grass outside the bungalow, with Hisoka and Nox. Hisoka used to tell them a lot of secrets as he named each one.

“I knew the moment I did it, that he would have accepted it, loved me anyways, supported me through it all, to the very end. I can’t explain to you how it feels in those moments after you kill the one you love the most in the world. It’s indescribable. It took me a day to clear out the body and clean up the evidence of my crime. I couldn’t touch him. I just sat there on the couch, staring at him. I didn’t sleep. I just watched him, praying he’d wake up and smile that smile that lit up my world. I couldn’t do anything but wait. He never woke up.”

Nyx felt a lump in their throat. He’d never told them this secret.

“I found you two a month later,” Hisoka said softly. It sounded like a promise. “I fought you about the sharing pain because I don’t want either of you to ever experience that. I don’t want that to be what you or Nox feel in your last moments. I want you to die happy, complete, without any regrets. Because there is nothing like that agony. It feels like someone ripped your soul from your body and that resulting void is about swallow you whole. The last thing you will ever feel is utter regret, rage at yourself, pain, nothing but pain. To think of you two dying and one of you feeling that … I couldn’t stand it. It terrifies me, even more than the thought of losing you both in a moment. You two terrify me.”

He’d won. Nox had won. Nyx’s heart trembled in their chest and they finally just leaned against him. An arm slung over their shoulders and they just melted into his warmth. A kiss was pressed to the crown of their head and his hand rubbed their arm.

“I was thinking Ky’ia could go with Shalnark to infiltrate the server room,” he said conversationally. The one sided talk was left alone and Nyx quietly thanked him for it. Nox was better at tearfully getting it all out. “Non combative for the most part. There will need to be at least one group of three, and Palm is best suited to join them in a bodyguard capacity in case things go south.”

“ _ If we take the serum, it may be better to split us up. We can’t go in with a hatsu that we aren’t sure will work properly, even if it doesn’t affect us at first. _ ” Hisoka could read sign with his eyes closed. They could talk to him in the dark.

“Shoot may be best to be on your team for Deylin, since he can balance on his hands and counteract your zero gravity. I was thinking Shizuku, too. Maybe Kurapika. He isn’t suited to be in Orbitwalk, but it’s the least explosive combination I can think of that would still work.”

“ _ B-a-s-h-o would be better. _ ”

“But it leaves us with limited places to put Kurapika. You can at least keep an eye on him and neutralize him should he get angry with Shizuku after it’s all said and done. It’s the smartest move.”

“ _ Fine. But what about Nox? _ ”

“Nox has the sheer destructive firepower needed for York New. And given their long and short range capabilities, I figured they would be paired with Morel. Their capabilities are the same, effectively, even if Morel is less nasty, and there’s a wide area needed for York New with multiple places to hit simultaneously. If they can bottleneck survivors in two locations, Franklin and Bono can take them out. Nox’s crows can get out of Bono’s range more easily than the smoke ninjas and they have the agility needed to get out of the way of his soundwaves if they end up nearby. Morel is fast, but not as fast as them, so he can pair with Franklin.”

“ _ What about Gorten? _ ” Hisoka thought better when he could do it out loud. Nyx was happy to help.

“There’s a high concentration of nasty close combat Nen users there in the other gangs. Nobunaga and Bisky can be effective in taking them out. Unfortunately, we don’t have the manpower to take out the smaller men, but Knov should be able to set a variety of traps to take out most of them, keep them bottled up until it comes time to deal with them. Machi can take out a good number of them and use her threads to cut off escape routes to force them into his hotel.”

“ _ So we have Phinks, B-a-s-h-o, L-e-o-r-i-o, Feitan, Knuckle, you, Kortopi, and Chrollo left. _ ”

“The circus will be next to Tindin this time around. Tindin is our last major target, so we are going to have to be a little flexible with teams. Chrollo, Kortopi, and I will most definitely be at the circus. Kortopi to make copies and turn it into a maze, so Alexandre can’t escape, and Basho for auxiliary support to me and Chrollo. The idea is that I will distract Alexandre while they take out the circus members before the files drop. Feitan, Phinks, Leorio, and Knuckle will handle Tindin. There is a meeting meant to take place that Alexandre won’t be attending. Around twenty five small bosses will be there and fifty big bosses with all of their bodyguards will be in attendance to discuss new locations for the coming cycle. As always, they will not agree on anything and entirely new locations will be picked later, but it’s the perfect place to unleash Rising Sun. So anyone but Knuckle will punch Feitan in the face and he will walk right in and let it loose.”

“ _ Did you come up with this plan specifically to get Feitan punched in the face? _ ”

“Absolutely.”

“ _ He’s not that bad. I like him. _ ”

“You have a skewed sense of normalcy.”

“ _ So do you. You’re kissing Chrollo. _ ”

“I kissed him once and you will do as I say, not as I do.”

“ _ I’m not the one dating Feitan. _ ”

“No, you’re just encouraging it, which is worse.”

Nyx laughed at him and laid down with their head in his lap so they could look up at the stars.

“ _ We’ll make it out okay, you know. _ ”

“Of course you will,” Hisoka replied dismissively. “I would drag you back from the dead if you didn’t, anyways.”

“ _ The real question is who are you going to let Kalluto watch work? _ ”

“Morel and Nox, probably. They can watch from a view and probably have a heart attack over smoke ninjas.”

This was probably like a dream for Hisoka, getting to put together the ultimate dream teams of Hunters and Spiders. A thought occurred to Nyx.

“ _ What about Illumi? _ ”

“What?”

“ _ You don’t listen to Chrollo very well. _ ”

“...” Hisoka stared down at them with a furrowed brow.

“ _ Have you not checked your texts? There’s no way he didn’t text you. Chrollo decided the best way to deal with the problem of him catching onto Kalluto lying was offering him a job to work with us. Zoldycks always honor contracts, after all, and a clause included silence. _ ”

Hisoka squinted at them.

“Chrollo hired a Zoldyck? How very bourgeois of him.”

“ _ He probably didn’t even notice how expensive Illumi was. _ ”

“Well, now I have to recalculate everything,” Hisoka huffed.

“ _ Put him with Nobunaga. Easy. There’s a shit ton of people to take out and Nox can’t be spared to do the heavy lifting for the volume so let Illumi do it. _ ”

Hisoka glared down at them.

“Stop doing my thinking for me. You make me feel old. I can feel the wrinkles coming in.” Nyx snorted.

“ _ I’m right, though. _ ”

“You’re a brat. Off my lap, you menace. We need to eat.”

Nyx sat up and stretched languidly. Two birds, one stone. Hisoka was likely feeling very smug right now. Trauma dump to get Nyx to agree to this stupid fucking bullshit plan, then all of his problems were solved with this, quite frankly, ridiculous team up of some of the most morally pure Hunters and the burning trash heap of a group of thieves they had been living with for a month.

Hisoka pulled them to their feet and held them in place for a second.

“Text Nox or Klaus. I will text the other,” he said seriously. Nyx felt that ever present ice on their heart come in just a little closer, stab it a little more insistently.

They weren’t sure they could text Nox. They were doing a very good job at not feeling like a complete jackass right now. Texting Nox would make it a very vain effort.

Hisoka hadn’t raised a couple of cowards.

“ _ I’ll text Nox. _ ”

Hisoka looked smug. And then he pressed another kiss to their forehead.

“I’ll get Klaus here. He can give Machi a ride. We might as well get your pelvises fixed while we’re at it.”

Nyx nodded numbly.

“ _ Make me a shake? I’ll be down in a minute. _ ”

Hisoka ruffled their hair and walked to the edge of the roof to drop down fluidly. Nyx sat back down, then laid back to stare at the stars.

They didn’t know how to open this conversation.

Nox loved to look at the stars. That’s why they came up here at night. There was next to no light pollution here, like the bungalow. They could stare for hours.

Nyx tilted up their phone, snapped a picture, and sent it.

There was a short wait before Nox replied with a picture of the ocean and the stars kissing it from a hotel balcony. Beautiful. Feitan had taste. Those were not Ikea banisters.

**Hisoka figured out the team ups. I’m with Kurapika, Shizuku, and Shoot. You’re with Morel, Franklin, and Bono.**

Waiting for the reply had Nyx’s heart permanently lodged in their throat.

**We’re not together?**

Nyx was too casual about everything. They couldn’t help it, really. Emotions were hard.

**We need the plan now. Our hatsu may not work properly in a week.**

**You’re gonna have to do better than that. Why won’t it work, exactly?**

As always, Nox was forcing them to talk.

**Because we’re taking the serum, and Machi is going to fix our pelvises.**

**And why are we taking the serum? ** Jackass.

**Because you were right. ** Not won. Right. They were right, and that’s why they won.  **We’re killing each other and we need to stop.**

**Did it really take Black Symphony in 48 to get us here?**

**Yes. ** It did. It really did. Hisoka’s speech wouldn’t have worked without it. Nyx had always known how awful Nox felt. They just hadn’t known it was this bad. Well, they had. They had just chosen to ignore it, unil Nox forced them to see it, shoved it in their face, painted it across their body. And when Hisoka had said his speech, it was only the memory of the pain, the way their jaw ached for hours, the way they couldn’t tell anyone, not even Ky’ia, how terrified they were that something worse than pain had happened, the bruises that coated their body, that made it come home.

They had invaded that moment. They had to relive their own fear, their own nightmare, and they had violated a very private moment for Nox. Nox should have been able to tell them of their own volition. Nyx still didn’t know what happened. They weren’t sure they could ask.

They likely never would ask.

Sharing pain was something sacred. It had never been meant for this. Nyx had clung to the belief that it could be saved, could be sanctified in the blood of those who had tarnished it, but it just … It wasn’t worth more trauma to get there. As sacred and holy as it was. It wasn’t worth it. It would never be whole again, and the belief that it could be was making things worse. For them and more especially for Nox.

Sharing pain was about what you could give to others, and there was no one left to give to.

The twins’ individual autonomy were more important than a legacy. And Nox’s point was made.

**We’ll be home tomorrow. Also. Is that supposed to be a bottle neck thing??**

**Yeah. You have York New. I have Deylin.**

**Oh that makes more sense. Why the fuck are you with Kurapika?**

**Bc I can neutralize him if he loses it with Shizuku.**

**How are they planning on handling Gorten? That’s a fuckin mess.**

**Knov for traps, Nobunaga and Bisky for destructive power, Machi for herding the rest to the traps, and then Chrollo went and hired Illumi bc he’s bougie as fuck so Illumi is there to be a you and wreck as much shit as possible.**

**…. Where’s Feitan?**

**…. With Phinks, Knuckle, and Leorio for Tindin.**

**……………**

**What.**

**That’s an awful lot of men known for punching people.**

**Yes.**

**…. Hisoka is planning for him to get punched isn’t he**

**Yep. Soz.**

**You could have at least argued.**

**Let him have this.**

**You have betrayed me.**

**Oh, the horror.**

Nyx looked back up at the stars and let themselves smile. Yeah. They were going to be okay.

Their pelvis protesting at the angle, they finally pushed themselves up and made for the balcony. Nox was going to be home soon, and while the battle ahead was going to be viciously ugly and hopefully short, they were all going to come out on top. They knew it.

That’s what the Morrows did. They always came out on top. No matter how long it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the final post of the year (decade) and I cannot thank you all enough for hanging in there and keeping up with this disaster. I hope this chapter was fulfilling. I can't wait to see you all Monday!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	60. The Spaghetti and The Tres Leches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka comes to terms with Nyx's decision and Chrollo comes to terms with his future.

You never really realized how heavy something was until you set it down. Hisoka felt like he had wings right now. For the moment, guilt and rage was buried down to the bottom of his chest, left alone, because the twins were going to take the serum.

He was on cloud nine.

It was a bittersweet victory. He knew it was their culture. He knew what it meant to them. He knew they thought it was all that was left, but they would be here when it was done, and they were what was left. Them, the two of them, alive and breathing, were what remained of the Gemini, not a genetic mutation.

They may not be Specialists after this. That was fine. As a Conjurer and a Transmuter, they were already ridiculously powerful. They had to be. He raised them. If anything, he liked their independent abilities better. Sure, Shadow Strike was virtually impenetrable, but its effectiveness decreased drastically if they had arguments. If they weren’t on precisely the same wavelength, its power was significantly diminished, and it was natural for them to have arguments. They were still people, still siblings. They were lucky Chrollo hadn’t killed them that night.

No, they needed to be independent. This gave them more options, didn’t force them into reconciling when they needed to keep the argument going until it was actually solved.

He was happy.

The blender pulsed a few more times and he leaned against the counter to text Klaus.

**The kids are taking the serum. Can you be here tomorrow? Bring Machi.**

**I can start driving now. They’re really taking it?? What did it take??**

**Me trauma dumping and Black Symphony in 48 bc Nox got fed up with Nyx.**

**Fuck … They’re okay right?**

**Mostly. They will be.**

**Wbu?**

**I’m fine. I forgot Nox could do that.**

**… You forgot their hatsu?**

**No. I forgot what it looks like when they feel like they don’t have any other choice.**

**Are they healing up ok? You need the good shit?**

**Nyx is looking a little yellow but they’re fine.**

**Y’all always do the most to get to the point.**

**Well. We can be a little excessive. Next week we’re launching the strike.**

**You found the head?**

**Yes.**

There it was again. The ugly turning in his gut. He had been told to come home at nineteen. He found the twins at twenty. He could have …

**Who?**

He hated to say it out loud, admit it. Even if it wasn’t out loud.

**Alexandre.**

**… You’re sure you’re good?**

**I’ll be “good” when I take his head from his shoulders.**

**Not sure that’s the proper coping mechanism.**

**It’s what I have. You know that.**

**Machi figured it out, you know. I just needed fresh eyes, I guess.**

**Figured what out?**

**Their pelvises. When damage is dealt, they partially heal and transfer it to them.**

**Yes?**

**So they have a healing factor. If Machi takes it and overrides it, she can amplify it. Kinda funny we figured it out thirty minutes before you texted.**

**How did you figure that out?**

**I amplified her Nen on some of those samples I took to stimulate regrowth. It worked.**

Hisoka could have laughed at the timing. Of course they would figure it out now, when Nyx and Hisoka were figuring it out on the roof. Of course they would. But the pelvises had always been a symptom, not the problem. A thought occurred to him.

**Oh, be a dear and tell Machi she gets to work with Bisky.**

**She said fuck you, she’s too old for her. What??**

**Ging Freecs turned out to be the Zodiac. We found out when he caught Gon going grocery shopping with Phinks and Nobunaga.**

**… That had to be an awkward conversation.**

**Unbearable, actually.**

**What does that have to do with this Bisky lady?**

**He got us some extra people. Not sure if anyone told Machi yet. It’s been a little hectic. He only texted the list yesterday.**

**Extra people.**

**Hunters. It’s going to be deliciously fun to watch this mixture simmer.**

**The kinda Hunters that WOULDN’T like the troupe or the kinda Hunters like Shalnark?**

**The Chimera Ant extermination team. And the last Kurta and his little buddies. So. Do not like.**

**I feel like you’re being punked.**

**It’s Ging. It’s probably a mix of being punked and him actually thinking it’ll work. He’s always a step ahead.**

**But you have the teams, yeah?**

**I think they’ll work. Nyx didn’t say I was an idiot, so they have to be decent.**

**Did you allow for the serum’s effects?**

**Like I said. Nyx didn’t say I was an idiot. They’ll be in separate cities. Nox is taking on York New, Nyx is with Deylin. I have the circus.**

**Dangerous.**

**It’s always dangerous. We always come out on top. And I can’t have them there to worry about.**

**I gotta drive. I’ll be there in a few hours.**

Hisoka locked his phone and sighed, low and sad. It was a little sad. The serum signaled something he didn’t want to admit: they were grown. They were all grown up and he had blinked and missed it. Everything felt like it had happened too fast, too soon.

Chrollo’s presence was at the door. Hisoka focused on pouring out the shake and sticking in a straw for when Nyx finally came down.

The door creaked open.

The two had been tiptoeing around each other since the kiss. Since the gala, Hisoka had flat out ignored or avoided him. He didn’t like how Chrollo’s presence made him face his reflection in the mirror.

“Your shoulders are looser.” Right out of the gate with a bat to the face. Hisoka didn’t know why, but he felt like he wanted to share.

“I have a lot of problems solved.” He really had been afraid that it would become a “screaming” argument with tears and a stone cold face. Things thrown, cruel things said, a resolution that didn’t really feel right, didn’t feel like they were completely on board, didn’t feel like Nyx wanted it. He had worried a lot. Like this, though? The way Nyx had stared up at the stars, let the tension drain from their body, actually  _ listened _ to what Hisoka had to say? It was different. It felt right.

“What problems?” Chrollo opened the fridge to warm up the leftovers from the dinner they’d missed.

“Ky’ia and Shalnark will infiltrate Feanor Technologies. Most Hunter websites use their servers. Palm will accompany them as a bodyguard in case things get ugly. Even with autopilot, Shalnark can only pilot one person at a time, and an all out shootout will get messy with Ky’ia’s inexperience. Nox, Franklin, Bono, and Morel will take York New. There’s a lot of major spread out locations, so Nox and Morel will herd and bottleneck up as many people as they can in two points with Franklin and Bono. Shoot, Nyx, Shizuku, and Kurapika will take on Deylin. There aren’t many locations, and they’re all small enough in size for Nyx’s aura to overtake the building. Gorten is the largest muscle supply, and will require the heaviest hitters we can spare. Bisky and Nobunaga will act as the control points to take on the most skilled Nen users, Illumi will take out as many of the smaller men as he can, Knov will lay traps to drop the rest in his hotel, and Machi will use her threads to block off escape routes. I’d like for Nox to be there, but York New is just too large for Morel to take on alone. Tindin will be going to Feitan, Knuckle, Phinks, and Leorio. The idea is for one of them, not Knuckle, to trigger Pain Packer and let Feitan loose into the meeting hall to cut off as many of the heads who may want to take over after. And yes, before you ask, I specifically planned for him, specifically, to get punched in the face, and no one can argue with me because it makes the most logical sense. Now. For the circus, you, Kortopi, Basho, and me will take it on. Kortopi will create an inescapable maze of circus tents to trap Alexandre while I distract him. You and Basho will take out his bodyguards. When the files drop, Basho will get Kortopi a safe distance away, and you and I will handle Alexandre.”

The microwave dinged and Chrollo leaned one hip on the kitchen counter to study Hisoka.

“It’s a solid plan. Two questions.”

“Ask them.”

“The twins are separated. Are their independent abilities more powerful in this scenario, or are they still fighting?”

“They’re taking the serum,” Hisoka replied. It felt amazing to say out loud. “Klaus will be here in a few hours with Machi. We don’t know how reliable Shadow Strike will be, and Nox’s independent hatsu will be more useful. Nyx’s hatsu can apply to any situation easily and is just as effective and impenetrable as Shadow Strike. It’s virtually impossible to break through.”

It was true. In combat, Orbitwalk had ten times the effectiveness of Shadow Strike, and Black Gravity, though the stakes were high, was virtually unstoppable. It had to be powerful. Their Nen naturally responded more heavily to the deeper personal sacrifice. Nyx giving up the ability to speak for a few days amplified it to an unbelievable degree. He suspected that wouldn’t change with the serum. You could change genetics. You couldn’t change legacy.

“Their teams will need to know what they can do.”

“I think, at this point, the previous assessment of the relationship between us and you has changed, and I’m sure the twins will be more than willing to share. I think they have been dying to show off.”

“Nox already told me.” Chrollo pulled out forks. Hisoka barely resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. Of course they did. “I like Ri. Though I am rather horrified you let them make so many conditions.”

“You try to tell a fifteen year old what they can and can’t do with their hatsu and let me know how it goes.” He’d have to try to tell an eighteen year old to have a sense of self preservation first. Fucking hell.

It was probably his own fault, with how flashy and cavalier he was with his own hatsu.

He still  _ refused _ to take the blame.

“You are right. They should work well with Morel, given that they can both have some degree of sight through their conjurations.”

“Nox can only see through their two scouts, Gin and Rum.”

“Why did they name them that?”

“They named another bird Jelly because they couldn’t get their shape consistent. Apparently Jelly insisted on being able to change size slightly or something. So, not the weirdest names they have. Five are named after spices. Though Gin and Rum are Gin and Rum because looking through their eyes feels like wearing drunk goggles for the first fifteen minutes after they’re conjured.”

“At least they have good taste in liquor.” Chrollo set the plates down and gestured for Hisoka to sit.

“They’re eighteen. They don’t have good taste in anything.” Including men.

Hisoka sat and took a bite of the spaghetti. They were having to cook in larger quantities now. Almost everyone except Machi, Franklin, and Kalluto was back.

“I was thinking Kalluto could watch Nox and Morel. They can see the most amount of action from a vantage point.”

“Ging can probably get them into the Hunter Association tower.”

“Mmm. It’s in the center of the city, too. They’ve probably got in enough fights lately to be a little complacent.”

“They apparently just assassinated a dictator.”

“What a lovely little Zoldyck.”

Chrollo took a bite of his food, tapped his fork on his plate.

“Why do you want me to fight with you?”

Hisoka sighed. He had hoped that wouldn’t be the second question.

The door opened. Hisoka glanced up at Nyx, who studied him in that knowing way they did. Without a word, they grabbed their shake and left. No salvation for him there. Useless brat.

“I can be very, very focused when I’m boiling with rage,” Hisoka finally said, calmly, evenly. Took another bite of spaghetti. Swallowed. “That means I know my limitations. Alexandre’s hatsu is not something I can handle alone. I can hold out for hours, of course, if need be, but I can’t kill him. And I know you can provide the firepower needed to take it down. Literal firepower.”

“I see.” Chrollo took a bite of his pasta. “What is his hatsu?”

“He’s a Conjurer. His hatsu is Fanged Hydra. He conjures a Hydra, from mythology, and it follows all of the rules of the classics. If you cut off one head, two more spring up. Once it gets to fifty, the actual Hydra splits, and then you deal with one hundred heads. And if it bites you, the poison acts as both a paralytic and a sedative. Strong Nen users can fight it off. I built up a tolerance, eventually, but even I can get bit too many times to fight it all off. My Bungee Gum can prevent the fangs reaching my skin, of course, but ultimately I can’t fight with a blowtorch. I’m sure you have some kind of ability in your book that will burn it to a crisp, so I can focus on going hand to hand with Alexandre.”

Chrollo hummed, looking thoughtful.

“It’s a pity we’ll be in a tent. We would only have to evade him for a short while if we were in a room.”

“Are you saying you don’t have an ability that will work?” Hisoka almost felt indignant. How dare Chrollo throw a wrench in his plans. They didn’t have time to go find someone to steal from.

“No. I have Poison Flower. It should work. I don’t have anything with fire, but I don’t think that matters if I liquify it.” That was better.

“When did you steal an ability that lets you liquify something?” Disgusting and sexy. Odd combination.

“Maybe four months ago. A Blacklist Hunter. I was thinking about giving it back eventually. It’s rather pungent and lacking artistry.”

Hisoka slowly raised his eyebrows and took another bite of spaghetti.

“So you  _ are _ a hatsu snob.”

“I’m not a snob.”

“A hatsu nerd, then.”

“I’m not sure anyone would ever think I was a nerd. That has some very specific connotations.”

Hisoka felt something decidedly playful flicker up.

“Then tell me. What do you think about Dance with Crows?”

Chrollo didn’t notice.

“There are far too many conditions, and while the result is worth it so long as Nox exercises self control, which is a feat in and of itself, there’s a certain degree of brilliance in ultimately sentimental conditions and aspects of the hatsu. They don’t need to direct their crows due to their sentience, but giving a conjured creature sentience takes time and attention and care. There’s personalities to seed, the ability to learn and evolve, base intelligence that can grow as Nox does. Picking some of the most intelligent birds as the template was also rather smart, aesthetics aside, as that ultimately will play into their growth patterns. Sentience also enables Nox to pour an excess amount of power into them that non sentient conjured creatures wouldn’t have out of sheer risk, and Nox is able to not have to focus in combat on monitoring that power and controlling it. However, with the regeneration qualities, Nox doesn’t have to spend days at a time recreating new birds. It takes significantly less power to bring them back than it does to craft an entirely new one, enabling them to reserve their Nen. It’s not something that I would prefer. The complexity would be too much of a bother, and I have a multitude of other hatsus to manage. But it works for Nox, so I would rate it an eight out of ten.”

A sly smile pulled at the corner of Hisoka’s lips and he leaned over the table to stop inches from Chrollo’s face.

“So you are a nerd.”

“Why can you never behave?” Chrollo wasn’t mad. He wasn’t exasperated. He was pleased.

“Would you like me if I did?”

“Not nearly as much.”

Hisoka was inches away. He could lean in. He could kiss him, finally, for a second time, now that he wasn’t a wreck of tension and stress. He could let himself have this.

Chrollo leaned in instead. Pressed their lips together. Hisoka let his eyes shut as he reveled in their second kiss.

The first one had been fueled by a myriad of emotions. Shock. Acceptance. Want. Need. Understanding, finally, that he needed to stop letting his paranoia drive away what was inches away from being a good thing. Because Chrollo was working to change, just a little, for Hisoka. He saw it all over him. The way he refused to tell him what Nox had said. The way that he consciously decided to prioritize Nox’s privacy over temporary satisfaction from Hisoka. The way he chose to not give Hisoka what he wanted, but to instead tell him what he needed to hear. The way he had changed his dance, stopped being reticent and secretive and just told Hisoka that he believed that he was a better man, and that he wanted to learn to be a little bit more like him. The way his simple, soothing, desperate words from a man scared he’d lose something he cherished told Hisoka that he wasn’t a fuckup, that he wasn’t a failure, that he was perfect enough.

Hisoka hadn’t been able to stop. If he didn’t kiss him, he’d cry.

This kiss was different. Just as good, just as sweet. It wasn’t the kiss of two men scared of losing each other. It was a kiss of two comfortable lovers, sharing a home, sharing a life. No mission, no battles, no fights. No anvil hanging over their heads, waiting to crash in.

It was just them.

The door creaked and Hisoka’s body tensed, lips still stuck to Chrollo’s. And then he sprang back, nearly fell over when he realized who was in the doorway.

Gon’s mouth was wide open. He was staring with wide eyes, and Hisoka wanted to laugh. Phinks was standing behind him.

“You two are…?”

“How did you notice Nox and Feitan but not Hisoka and Chrollo?”

“Gon,” Hisoka chided. “You act like you’ve never seen someone kiss before.”

“I  _ have _ but I didn’t …. Wait. How long? What? Is that what Nyx meant? I thought they were…?”

“Nyx meant what?” Hisoka asked sharply.

“When Chrollo told them they should be in bed after whatever it was Nox did and they said---” Phinks reached around and clamped a hand tight over Gon’s mouth.

“Sorry, y’all are eating, Gon wanted to bake a tres leches cake for when Nox got back, we’ll be going.”

Oh. Oh that was surprisingly sweet. When had they told him they liked it?

“I’ll give you my recipe,” Hisoka said and picked up his plate. “Chrollo and I will finish in the study. Where people knock.”

Gon was redder than a tomato. Hisoka almost pitied him. Chrollo was just staring at him. Nevertheless, he stood and followed Hisoka, who swept past the flustered Gon, already texting out the recipe to send.

Chrollo fell into step beside him as they climbed up the stairs.

“Did he really not figure it out?” Chrollo finally wondered out loud. “He’s been here three weeks.”

“It’s very hard to imagine the genius that Ging is producing that,” Hisoka mused. “Brilliant in a fight, of course. Excellent instincts. I guess the universe decided it gave him enough genius battle intellect and he didn’t need anything else. Then again, he is a teenager, and stupidity is unavoidable at that age.”

“I think your team ups are brilliant,” Chrollo suddenly said. Hisoka lifted his head and blinked a few times.

“Mm?”

“You’re very good at measuring Nen abilities and matching them appropriately. You got a mess of people from Ging but you saw the brilliance in it. I thought about it. You figured out a way for twenty four people in six locations to do the most amount of damage and kill hundreds in the most efficient way you could think of. It’s commendable. You’re operating on a Zodiac’s level of planning. You even allowed for a wild card like Kurapika. I have a feeling his chains can be both optimized and neutralized with Nyx.”

They could be. If he had the control, Nyx could enable him to optimize them. If he tried to attack Shizuku, they could simply drain the Nen out of his attack and withhold it. Though Hisoka was fairly certain it would be fine. If Kurapika was anything, it was a man of his word.

The two of them reached the study and Hisoka paused. Oh. Chrollo had called him brilliant.

Well. It was to be expected.

“Well, with the info dump, we may be expecting some additional allies,” Hisoka theorized. “That was always the idea. Info dump, and then spring the attack.”

“York New is going to be a disaster.” Chrollo pushed open the door. “There’s a high concentration of Hunters there waiting on jobs.”

“Maybe Nox will make some friends.”

“Do you think they’ll work with Morel well? I read his file. Franklin and Bono won’t be a problem, but Nox can be …”

“A literal disaster,” Hisoka supplied. “They should be fine. They’re very focused when they’re working. Methodical. They look like a mess, but they’re very good in combat. They can just be a bit odd sometimes. I formed my personality test based on their ingrained characteristics that never changed with all of the … hormones when I was raising them.”

Being thrown into the caregiver role with a couple of preteens had been one hell of a ride.

“The first thing they said to me was ‘what the fuck do you want, dipshit’.”

Hisoka pursed his lips. The twins had come out a little chaotic. Sue him.

“Like I said. A little odd.”

It felt strange to be reminiscing. He’d spent hours in this study with Chrollo and the twins and the occasional troupe member. Hours slaving over work, broken by laughter when Phinks came in, irritation with each other for the close quarters, frustration with the constant wall, amusement when they heard Gon hollering in the hall as Nobunaga dragged him off, his eavesdropping denied. It had only been a month, but it felt like the troupe belonged at their side, and they belonged at the side of the troupe. Two families, mashed up together, making it work.

And now it was coming to an end. Moving boxes had been brought in. The den was already packed, drawing room taken apart, furniture hauled out, the last of the broken walls patched up with fresh paint. The library was being slowly and steadily dismantled. Hisoka didn’t know what it would look like after this. Nyx was going to take the Hunter Exam. Nox might just tag along. His little birds were finally going to spread their wings. Ky’ia was going to take the exam to try and use a Hunter station to pressure a stop to deforestation. Nyx was likely to take up that cause. Feitan would undoubtedly follow Nox wherever they went like the puppy he was.

Hisoka was going to have an empty bungalow to return to. He didn’t want to continue at Heaven’s Arena. He wanted a break. The world would eventually find out what he’d done. There was no way to hide it. When the twins made their appearance at the exam pieces would fall into place. But until then? He needed a break. He didn’t want to wear a mask anymore.

“Where are you going to go?” Hisoka suddenly asked.

Chrollo set his plate down on the desk.

“With you. To the circus.”

“I mean after,” Hisoka said. His tongue felt thick. It wasn’t the same for Chrollo as it was for him.

Chrollo stared at him. Hisoka never really let himself dream about the “after”. You could only have so many hopes at once.

“After next Saturday?”

“The bungalow is going to be empty when they leave.” Hisoka didn’t know what he was asking. Was he asking Chrollo to leave the troupe?

Chrollo stared at him.

“I can’t fill their space. But I can make another one. If you want.” Something small, fragile, just beginning to grow in his chest received some water.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say for anyone wondering: I did not plan for this arc to fold out during the end of the year. Guess it was just something that was going to happen. Last post of the decade and what a hell of a theme to go with. The Morrows will see you in the next year and bring about their own new beginnings in the next chapter! Have a wonderful holiday! My best wishes to you all. I hope you all will continue with me in 2020.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	61. The Two and The Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox and Nyx take their final step together.

There were a lot of cars parked out front. Klaus’s pickup, all of the troupe’s shared vehicles, an extra SUV Nox didn’t recognize. At this point there needed to be a parking lot. The garage doors were open, at least. Someone had brought their motorcycle back. How thoughtful. A spot had been reserved for Feitan’s car.

Nox was nervous. They hadn’t told Nyx about the hair. They would probably love it, honestly. It fit Nox pretty well.

The car powered down and Feitan looked over at Nox.

“You nervous?”

Nox nodded. Their heart couldn’t stop hammering in their chest. There wasn’t going to be a delay in taking the serum. Klaus wasn’t entirely positive if it would react with a fever or just various body aches for a day or two. Whatever happened, he was confident they’d be fine in three days max, but they didn’t have time to mess around with it. The coordinated strike was five days away.

Honestly, there were so many medical ethics being violated here, but what was he going to test it on? Some rats?

They couldn’t believe it was really finally happening.

Feitan stepped out and reached over them to grab their bags. Nox slipped out of the car and closed the door.

They knew in their gut they weren’t going to be a Specialist anymore.

That was fine, though. They had their crows. And Nyx was objectively even more impenetrable when using Orbitwalk, anyways. The twins would be fine. And it wouldn’t be such a pain to get up in the morning.

Nox wouldn’t have to use so much stolen Nen now. They’d really be able to sleep.

The two of them walked in silence to the front door. There wasn’t a whole lot to say. Nox was completely comfortable in his presence now.

The second Nox’s hand touched smooth wood they felt Nyx’s Nen flow back into them. Nox swayed slightly at the full blast of emotion in their face. Their power grew, amplified, and nothing needed to be said. Nyx was sorry. Nox was, too.

The door creaked open and Feitan and Nox stepped into the entrance hall. Nyx was sitting on the steps. Waiting. Watching. Ky’ia was sat next to them, a quiet cool presence. Supporting them.

The two siblings stared across the space at each other. They couldn’t be more different, Nox realized. Nox with their bad attitude and nasty temper and constant tears and love of art and whimsy. Quick to take offense, instant to forgive, willing to accept the nastiest of people and things if they saw a little good in them. Nyx, with their brain always computing equations, cold, calculating, never forgetting a grudge once it had latched in, fiercely loyal without a fickle bone in their body, never straying from the path as Nox bounced in every which way you could imagine. The people at their sides only illustrated that difference. Nox, who needed to love as someone as ugly and twisted as Feitan, who needed to dig through to see the good and see how he rewarded them for their efforts, gave and gave and accepted them as being his equal in the good and bad, the ugly and the beautiful. Nyx, who had gentle Ky’ia, too good to let Nyx run loose, too kind to let Nyx stray from the path they needed, craved, clung to. Nyx, who needed to love someone as good and pure as Ky’ia, to protect them as Ky’ia protected them in turn.

They always had needed to come here, to this point, to this long entrance hall, to see the differences and accept them. They had always needed to do this, to break the flow. They had always needed more than what they could give each other, and they couldn’t truly have more unless they let the pain go.

It felt a little like growing up.

Nyx pushed their elbows off their knees, straightened up, and Nox felt it. That gentle acknowledgement of the realization that Nyx had come to, too. That quiet, sad, bittersweet acceptance.

“ _ I like your hair. _ ”

They didn’t need to say it. The two didn’t need to talk. For once, they didn’t need to talk.

“ _ It got matted. Feitan cut it. _ ”

“ _ He did a good job. It looks good on you. _ ”

“ _ Thanks. You should dye your hair again before we go. Might be fun. To do it before. _ ”

“ _ I was thinking orange this time. _ ”

“ _ What about blue? _ ”

“ _ We’ve done it too many times. Stains are too nasty. _ ”

That was true. Blue stains never got out of the shower. Nox kicked the door shut with their heel and glanced over at Feitan.

“Will go put bags away. Want me to make you shake?”

“ _ Just water. _ ” They might vomit up a shake out of sheer nerves.

“Okay.”

Feitan made for the stairs, glanced back as he passed Nyx one last time to check, make sure it was all fine, before he climbed them and disappeared down the hall.

“ _ You’re signing faster with him. _ ”

“ _ He learned lemonade ginger ale. By himself. _ ”

Nyx’s brows rose comically and Nox finally, finally approached them, waved a hello to Ky’ia, extended their hand. Nyx looked at the offered hand for a moment and then took it. Nox pulled them to their feet and let out a shaky breath before they just pulled them in closer for a hug.

They loved Nyx. They really did. They didn’t want to lose them with this fight, this chasm that had grown ever since Jun. But what Nyx hadn’t realized until now was that they were constantly, unwillingly, violating each other. Invading each other’s privacy. Breaking into moments they had no business being in. There were no boundaries. Something as simple as having their lip bitten in a kiss the other would feel, know. And something as traumatizing as what Arthur had done would never go unnoticed. Those two years they had spent in hell was never going to just go away. Killing each other aside, it had to stop. It needed to stop.

It was meant to be different. They were meant to be spiritual leaders, with no need for life partners or romantic love. They were supposed to live a life that was safe, with the pain they dealt to one another controlled, about giving to their loved ones, about connecting with their ancestors, not drowning their enemies in blood and fire. They weren’t supposed to have this life.

But they did.

And it was different.

Nox hugged them a little tighter, buried their face in a mass of white hair, felt tears start to well.

They had missed Nyx. They had missed them so terribly.

They wouldn’t sob now. Maybe one little tear, but they wouldn’t sob.

Nyx pulled Nox in closer, held them tight, and there it was again. That “I’m sorry” they didn’t need to say.

Nox pulled back, finally, wiped at their eyes. This they would say.

“ _ I love you. _ ”

“ _ I love you, too. _ ” Nyx bumped their heads. “ _ Klaus is waiting in the kitchen with Machi. Hisoka is with M-o-r-e-l, Knuckle, Shoot, Palm, and K-n-o-v in the drawing room. It still has a little furniture. _ ”

At least some of these people had the decency to have names there were already signs for. Fingerspelling was going to be a pain. They had barely finished naming the troupe.

“ _ Should we wait for Hisoka? _ ”

“ _ Obviously. He should be done soon. _ ”

Ky’ia stood up. Nox hated not being the one with the most emotional intelligence in the room.

“I can go get Hisoka if you two will wait in the kitchen,” Ky’ia said kindly. They had picked up a lot of pieces of sign to be able to figure out what they were saying. Nox was glad they were trying.

“ _ Thank you. _ ”

“ _ He’s going to have a heart attack over your hair, _ ” Nyx signed wryly as the two made for the kitchen.

“ _ Wait till he finds out that I not only did not go to a salon, but I let Feitan cut it. _ ”

“ _ Cardiac arrest imminent. _ ”

Nox snorted and pushed open the door.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Ah, Klaus. Nox had missed him.

“ _ No hug? And it got matted. Badly. Lots of blood. _ ”

Klaus frowned and reached out to ruffle it.

“Not that I don’t like it or anything. You can do what you want but … Actually, it’s cute. Just weird.”

“ _ There was so little shampoo involved it was amazing. _ ” Nox reached up to push his glasses back into place and waved at Machi.

“ _ Kinda jealous. _ ”

“Then cut yours, too.”

“ _ Absolutely not. _ ”

Nox’s eyes fell on the canister on the counter and they remembered why they were here. The serum. Two vials were enclosed in that canister and then it would be all over. Their heart rate picked up again.

“So how did your vacation go?” Machi asked wryly from the table. She was on the chair’s back legs. Feitan hated that. Nox’s lips twitched.

“ _ It’s a secret. _ ”

“It’s a secret …” Klaus trailed off and squinted at Nox. “You  _ will _ buy condoms after this, right?” Nox flushed.

“ _ Don’t be nasty. _ ”

“I’m serious! Just because you’re almost infertile doesn’t mean you can’t possibly get pregnant or get an STI! And Nyx, don’t look so smug, you can, too, and you know it.”

“ _ Isn’t this a gross violation of patient confidentiality? _ ” Nox scowled at him.

“Machi is a licensed doctor even if her identity is fake, and you are a patient in her care, so, no. Condoms. I will buy them for you.”

“ _ I will literally kill myself before you get the chance. _ ”

“Don’t be dramatic. Nyx, you’re looking very smug. Do you need a lecture on sex ed, too?”

“ _ Klaus. We know. There are literally educational tools about it. _ ” Nyx was done looking smug.

“Oh, Nox, that little boy toy of yours put one of your fruit waters in the fridge. He used cold water, so I think it’s chilled.”

Aw. How sweet of him. Nox hadn’t had any in days now. They made a beeline for the fridge and pulled out their bottle. Apple and ginger. Delicious. About a quarter was sucked down in one go and a very, very loud delighted sigh of contentment escaped their lips.

“ _ He didn’t make me one? _ ” Nyx almost looked offended.

“ _ No, you can choke. Only I get his fruit water. Greedy. _ ”

“ _ I’m going to get him to make one for me. _ ”

“ _ Leave him alone you menace. _ ” His apple ginger waters were the best. He could slice the ginger so thinly you almost couldn’t see the pieces. Nox swore it changed the taste (it didn’t).

The door swung open and Nox’s eyes lifted to meet Hisoka’s.

He looked tired. They felt bad. Not a drop of face paint, hair pulled in a disastrous pony, wearing that old and worn band tee the twins had gotten him ages ago whose neck had long since gone out, ripped jeans, barefoot on the floor. He must have been tired if he greeted guests like that. Unless he had completely given up. Which was the same thing.

“You cut your hair.”

“ _ I’ve been told. _ ” Nox worked their hand through unruly curls. “ _ Is it cute? _ ”

“It frames your face well.”

He didn’t look disappointed in them. He looked a little happy. Relieved. They had calculated correctly then.

It felt weird to be doing this with Machi in the room with them. It felt like it was supposed to be just Klaus and the Morrows, the way it had been from the start.

Machi seemed to agree. She stood up from her seat, blew her hair from her eyes, and gave them a passing wave.

“I’ll need an hour with each of you. It’ll be better when you’re laying down. Text me when you’re done.”

And with that she was out the door, leaving the four of them together. Silence stretched out. Nox didn’t know how to make the first move. They felt like this was when the closest thing they could get to a childhood ended. Really ended, not like it had ended in Jun. They’d been catapulted into adulthood at subsonic speeds, and this was the first time they really felt like they had a choice in the matter.

Nyx moved first. Flipped a chair around, straddled it, let their hands start to move.

“ _ Well? We don’t do speeches. Just stick it in. _ ”

The tension broke and Nox found themselves sitting next to Nyx in a trance. Klaus had told them ages ago exactly how it went. It had to be injected directly into their neck, between the vertebrae. It would burn at first, then they’d have symptoms similar to the flu. Aches and pains. Maybe a fever. He tried to minimize the effects, but it was still rewriting their genetic code. It was going to be painful, but then again, wasn’t everything?

A hair tie secured their hair up and out of the way and behind them the canister hissed open. Nyx reached out and grabbed Nox’s hand. Nox could see them out of the corner of their eye. This could be the last time they shared. Their last moments sharing Nen, in quiet acceptance and complacency. They felt cool, like the ocean was lapping over their body.

Nox squeezed their hand and let their eyes slide shut. Klaus said something. Hisoka counted, and there was a pinch of pain right at the base of their neck.

It took a second. Moments ticked down and Nox focused on the hand in their grasp. Their last pain to be shared.

It erupted across their body. Burning, burning pain and Nox squeezed Nyx’s hand tight, tight enough to break it, and Nyx squeezed back.

Nox felt the moment they knew it would work. The link shuddered, their Nen flickered, and then their figure eight shattered, collapsed to the ground in pieces that dissipated into the air. Nyx wasn’t there anymore. Instead, Nox’s singular aura rose up, flaring and twisting in confusion. And beside them Nyx’s rose, too.

They weren’t Specialists anymore.

Nox didn’t let go until the burning died down and slipped away. Sweat was pricking under their bangs. They dropped their head and limply slipped their hand from Nyx’s grasp. Silence ticked on. They felt eyes on their back.

Nyx moved first, pushed themselves back, and the two exchanged a glance. A hand moved to Nyx’s mouth and they bit down, eyes locked with Nox’s. Perfectly shaped teeth marks formed on Nyx’s skin, complete with their snaggletooth, and Nox lifted their own right hand.

Nothing. No bruises. No pain. It had worked.

Nox stumbled to their feet. It wasn’t taking long at all to set in the pain. Every muscle ached. It had scarcely taken two minutes to undo a legacy that had lasted generations. They didn’t regret it.

“Are you guys okay?” Klaus asked as Hisoka moved to put a hand on Nyx’s back, hold them still as Nox leaned on Klaus heavily. They felt like they were in a dream as the reality set in.

It was over. It was done. They’d finally just done it.

Nox nodded numbly. They felt like they were in shock. That simple. It had been as simple as making them feel like they had an extreme workout. Two minutes and a weird needle placement and then were done. It was like getting a vaccine.

Klaus manhandled them into a turn so he could plaster on a bandaid. Nox still felt like their feet weren’t on solid ground.

“Nox, why don’t you go first with Machi so Nyx can help Hisoka with getting the Hunters settled in?” Meaning Nyx was better at reacting to shock and Nox sucked at at least pretending to be a person. That was fair.

They felt like they could fly. They weren’t going to kill Nyx anymore. They wanted to soar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would be appropriate to upload on New Year's Day, so here we are. I really hope you all have enjoyed this story so far. Next up is some exposition, and then the final fights. About ten weeks give or take to go! I have some sequels revolving around the twins and later more Hisokuro in the works, so let me know if you want me to upload them in chapters like this one or all at once, or even if you're interested in reading them. There's been a lot of growth in the twins. I hope you all like them. I guess if you didn't, you wouldn't be here. I thought about having them decide to take the serum with a screaming fight and argument, the way I mentioned in 59(?), but it just didn't feel right when I wrote it. I hope some of you can agree with me. The next chapter will still be on schedule for Friday. I wish you all the best for 2020. Let me know if you found this chapter satisfying! I would love to get some feedback from you guys!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	62. The Cake and The Shooter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka gives the backup the rundown on the strike.

Nyx was sitting next to Hisoka on the edge of the desk, studying and memorizing the Hunters before them. The Chimera Ant, Palm, had a quiet cool Nyx knew intimately. At the moment, her and Morel were the main object of their attention. Palm because she was to be entrusted with Ky’ia. Morel because he was to be entrusted with Nox. Morel they felt would be no problem at all. He had the aura of a teacher, level headed, a mountain man who possessed good enough humor to not get pissed with Nox’s brash nature. He may even possess the mental fortitude to get them to slow down should they act out. They likely wouldn’t. They knew the severity of the situation better than anyone in the room, sans Nyx and Hisoka.

Hisoka hadn’t introduced them yet. Likely because he could tell they were still coming to terms with what had happened a scarce twenty minutes ago. It felt like they’d lost a limb.

They knew what it was like to lose something.

It would take them weeks to adjust, if not months, or even a year. Nyx knew it wouldn’t be a distraction. Far enough away from Nox and it would be normal. Right now, though, Nox was being operated on a floor above them, and while Machi’s threads were painless, Nyx still felt like they should be able to feel something.

Hisoka was explaining primary targets and larger threats to take out. In Nen and in money. He hadn’t given them a list of teams yet. They needed to get through the basics first. The crash course was hilarious. Nyx kept wanting to add additional details that would make the picture clearer, but they were unnecessary. Everyone in the room was already uncomfortable enough with the situation.

Knuckle had been staring at them for awhile now. Nyx was still ignoring it, just sitting and listening. He’d be told in time.

“Frisk provides the primary muscle for Anton’s operation…” Nyx lifted their head and glared at Hisoka. He shouldn’t try to draw them out like that. Hisoka gave them a disarming smile. “Sorry, Trya’s laundering operation. He’s a low level threat, but has enough people to make a ruckus in York New.”

“Does that one not speak or do they just hate us?” Ah, there it was. Knuckle pointed directly at Nyx and Nyx just stared back at him, utterly deadpan.

“Well, they do speak, just not something most people understand, and Nyx here hates everyone, so I suppose yes and no. Not just you specifically. They’re my brains, to catch my little slips,” Hisoka replied airily. “I think that about covers it. When you all link up with your teams Nyx will give you more detailed packets of targets and threat levels.”

“Are they not a Spider?” Knuckle really saw the forest for the trees. “They aren’t with known Spiders. Ging didn’t mention anyone else.”

“No, they aren’t a Spider. They’re my younger sibling,” Hisoka replied casually. Knuckle stared at him. Morel finally looked up with a grunt. Knov looked between the two of them, trying to find the similarities. Nyx let out a sigh. He always had to be so dramatic. He was likely looking forward to a moment when he could flaunt them theatrically. “One of them. The other is upstairs.”

“You have siblings?” Knuckle was very confused by this development. A true himbo.

“Adopted. This is Nyx. Nyx, say hello.”

Nyx dispassionately waved a hand as they unlocked their phone.

“And since Ging failed to tell you, you will be working with five non Spiders. Me, Nox, Nyx, a Specialist named Ky’ia, and Illumi Zoldyck. Chrollo hired him, so any complaints can be taken to him. I have arranged teams to optimize damage within specific environments. Here are the lists. All of the Spiders are here. I trust you all can find your team members to compare hatsus. Notes have been made regarding hatsus you do not have previous knowledge of, and my strategy recommendations.”

Hisoka held out the papers. They were passed around and scrutinized carefully. Morel tilted his head.

“Well. That would work,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“I do hope you and Shoot can sign, or at least manage without needing to talk to your teammates too much.”

Nyx rolled their eyes. Deliberately coy. Irritating. He was trying to get them to actually speak to people.

“I can sign. Shoot knows a little. Why do we need it?”

“ _ I can’t talk. _ ” Hisoka won. They would be social. Disgusting. “ _ I can manage without needing to talk depending on my teammates, but it just makes things easier. Nox can’t talk either. _ ”

“Oh. My apologies.” He was the picture of a gentleman. Shoot looked like he had caught almost all of it. Great. Nyx pushed themselves off the desk. They wanted some of the cake in the fridge they’d intentionally neglected to tell Nox about so they wouldn’t eat the entire thing before they got a bite.

“ _ Franklin and Bono are in the library packing. Third floor. Second door on the left. _ ”

With that, they swept out the door as Hisoka adjourned the meeting.

**How obnoxious was he?**

A waiting text from Nox.

**Unbearable. I had to talk to actual people. How is it going?**

**Kind feels like a thready massage. She had me light up my pieces with Nen so she could see.**

**Smart. How much longer?**

**She said about fifteen minutes.**

**Gon baked you tres leches.**

**If you eat it all I’ll kill you.**

**What are you gonna do, throw some feathers at me?**

**Jackass.**

Grinning to themselves, they pushed open the kitchen door. Shoot was following them. That was fine. He seemed decent. Nyx might give him some cake.

The cake was pulled out and cut into. Tres leches required milk. That was a rule. Coffee was the only acceptable alternative. Oat milk was poured into a glass and they rifled through the drawers to locate their straws. Someone kept putting them in the dishwasher and not handwashing or just putting them in the dishwasher  _ after _ the twins had already washed them and somehow that had led to them getting left everywhere.

Aha. Acrylic straw.

The door swung open as Nyx slid the cake back into the fridge and they looked up at Shoot. He was obnoxiously tall. Manipulation and Conjuration in equal amounts, the second they’d learned about him they almost felt like they could find something akin to a kindred spirit. After all, they were both amputees. The two of them could hypothetically get along for a few days, despite Nyx’s notoriety as someone who did not get along with people.

Nyx stuck in the straw and took a sip. Shoot stared back at them.

“So you’re a Transmuter,” Shoot finally said. Nyx nodded. “Orbitwalk is you mimicking gravity.”

He was likely intermediate in sign. Explaining Nen abilities was fluent at best. Nyx took a bite of the tres leches and pulled out their notepad to write.

**Yes. Hisoka and I thought the addition of zero gravity would give you an advantage so long as you don’t float off a hand. We can practice somewhere not surrounded by breakable things just to test it.**

Another bite of cake. It really was good. Gon had copied Hisoka’s recipe perfectly. Where was he, anyways? Or Ky’ia, for that matter. Gon was likely going to find out what was going on very soon.

“Are you an amputee?” Shoot asked bluntly. Nyx didn’t mind.

**Both me and Nox are.**

“And you’re adopted?”

**Yeah. The three of us came from the same place.**

Shoot’s eyes narrowed as he read it. Had Ging told them literally anything? Did he just tell them to show up at Chrollo Lucilfer’s house and they went with it?

**Ging really didn’t tell you guys anything, did he?**

“He told us Hisoka had been undercover with a child sex trafficking ring that had existed for three decades and was nearing completion and needed more fighters. And then told us Gon told him it was fine to cash in on the favor. As if we actually needed a favor to say yes, but it is what it is.”

How kind of Ging to respect the Morrow privacy. He’d likely just decided to not mention it. Nyx sighed and took another long sip of their milk. And then another bite. They could barely taste it, but hey, the texture was one of their favorites. It was hard to choke on.

**It’s a long history to get into anyways. He picked us up about six years ago. He’s been doing this for ten years.**

“That’s a very long time.”

**It took us weeks to catch the troupe up to speed on why it took so long so you can just read the info dump when it comes out.**

“Isn’t he only two years younger than me?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” Nyx took another bite. The slice was nearly gone. They raised their eyebrows at him, very deliberately telling him to not get into it, and he wisely took the advice.

“Do you know where Gon is?”

**Probably waiting for Machi to finish up with Nox. Speaking of, it’s almost my turn.**

“Turn for what?”

Nyx finished the last bite of cake and drained their glass before gesturing vaguely at their pelvis.

**Very long story, can’t go into it right now but we effectively just entirely altered our genetic code like thirty minutes ago and now we’re getting our pelvises fixed for the first time in like six years. You guys got here at a very weird time. Don’t worry about it too much.**

Shoot looked like he was questioning his life choices and Nyx sighed, gave him a little pity.

**Before you get freaked out, I’m just going to remind you that you agreed to a literal pedophile extermination with the Phantom Troupe as your murder buddies, and you probably have bigger things to worry about than the fact that Hisoka Morrow has some weird siblings.**

“That implies Nox is also very weird.” Odd how reminding someone that they were going to go on a murderous escapade brought them back down to earth.

**They’re worse. See ya.**

Nyx swept out the door. 

It was funny. They’d been so resistant to this for so long, but for the oddest reason their step was as light as a feather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters to go!! I hope you're having a wonderful day! Next up: Morel being a cringey dad and team building exercises!


	63. The Pirate and The Mercenary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morel has some cringey dad qualities.

Nox wasn’t sure when this had started to happen. Franklin and them barely spoke to each other, and yet whenever they were each other’s immediate vicinity there was an immediate feeling of “bro, we’re chill”. They spent the majority of their time with Feitan and their siblings, but on the off chance that they and Franklin were in the same room together they were practically two peas in a pod. If he wasn’t a murderous scumbag, they would describe him as a gentle giant.

That was never more evident now, an hour after walking out of their bedroom with an entirely restored pelvis. They had found their way to the packed up den, where Nobunaga and Phinks and Kortopi had started a game of cards. They had taught Ky’ia, and now Ky’ia was cheating with the best of them. Nyx would probably love it. Nox wasn’t one for cards. They primarily required hands and communication, and Nox needed their hands free to communicate. So they sat and watched the game play out, made snide comments and witty remarks that left everyone roaring.

And then Franklin rumbled in to join, and Nox had somehow ended up perched on his shoulder like Ri perched on theirs, heels drumming a continuous pattern on his chest. Gon had left after he checked on Nox and then gone to help the exterminators set up their tents outside. They weren’t comfortable sleeping inside. That was fair. Nox was glad he got to be around his friends. He probably needed it. He’d seen Ging while they were gone, and they did not want to know how that had gone.

Feitan walked in through the door as Nox drummed their heels on Franklin’s chest. They looked up and their eyes met. His gaze raked up and down the sight before him and then he just slowly lifted his phone and snapped a picture.

“Do you feel okay?” He asked.

“ _ Sore. _ ” Nox wasn’t going to go into the feelings right now. They were having fun. “ _ Little weird. _ ”

Feitan drew near and sat down next to Franklin to watch the game. The bets were getting high.

“Ky’ia, where you get so much money?”

“Everyone else,” Ky’ia replied casually. Nobunaga grumbled.

“I know you’re cheating.”

“Is it not about cheating and whoever doesn’t get caught wins?”

“Well, yeah, but we don’t  _ say _ it.”

“Then I am following house rules, yes? So I am not cheating.”

Nobunaga turned a weary gaze on Phinks, who had a sly smirk flirting around his lips.

“This is your fault.”

Nox snickered and kept drumming their heels on Franklin’s chest. Honestly, watching from above like this was far more entertaining. The pile at Ky’ia’s end looked about ten times larger than anyone else. They shouldn’t be so focused on Ky’ia. Kortopi had been copying cards for about ten minutes now and was going to sweep in with a win. And Ky’ia knew and was just letting it happen, likely for their own amusement, been making bigger and bolder plays to keep the attention on them. Incorrigible, the two of them.

Franklin craned his neck to look at them.

“What do you think?”

Nox leaned forward a little, steadied themselves, and pointed to the three eights in his hand. They’d been throwing Kortopi off since they took their spot on his shoulder.

“Hey! Nox! Not cool!” Nobunaga caught that.

“ _ I can’t see! _ ”

“Liar!”

He was right. They could only see Kortopi and Ky’ia from here, though. So he shouldn’t worry about himself.

“ _ I can’t! _ ”

Feitan cleared his throat as Franklin laid down the triple eight. Kortopi coughed the second they fell and Nox felt that half amused half annoyed one eyed glare set on them. They beamed at him in response. Phinks squinted up at them and they just kept drumming their heels on Franklin’s chest.

Their phone buzzed with a text from Nyx.

**Where are you? I’m done.**

**In the den. Your theyfriend is beating the troupe’s asses at cards.**

**What.**

**They take the house rule of cheating very seriously.**

**How bad is it?**

Nox snapped a picture of the money pile and sent it.

**I have literally never been more proud in my life. Also why are you so high up?**

**Franklin’s shoulder is very comfortable. You should try it.**

**No thanks.**

**Tho I will say I am firmly on Franklin’s side. Ky’ia’s keeping Nobu and Phinks distracted so Kortopi can keep copying cards so he can win. And I am definitely throwing in a wrench.**

**Stop being so mean to Ky’ia.**

**Come down here and make me.**

**Oh btw Morel can sign. I just peeked out the window and they’re all done. Think they’re gonna go look for you guys.**

**Mmm. Well I got Franklin. You seen Bono anywhere?**

**I think he’s packing up his bedroom.**

  1. ** Coming down?**

**Nah I’m gonna find Shizuku.**

**You have fun with that.**

“I saw you slip that card up your sleeve.” Poor Phinks. He had no idea what was coming.

“Then check.” Nobunaga thrusted his arm out and Phinks scowled at him. He hadn’t caught the second sleight of hand.

Nox constricted their throat to cluck to get Feitan’s attention. He didn’t even look up as they dropped down the phone for him to read the texts. He scanned the messages and then tossed the phone back up for them to catch.

“Should probably finish. Nyx says they finished setting up camp. Would not want them to walk in to find you getting your asses beat by Ky’ia.”

It was Kortopi’s turn. He laid down his full royal run and cards in every person’s hands except Franklin’s vanished. Silence stretched out for a second and Ky’ia smugly pushed over their very large pile. Nobunaga pointed up to Nox.

“You  _ were _ cheating!” Nox had most certainly not been drumming out morse code on Franklin’s chest. Maybe they really were playing.

“ _ You’re mad at me? _ ” He understood it, and ignored it.

“And you! You little sneak!” Nobunaga pointed at Ky’ia.

“I didn’t say  _ I _ was trying to win.” Kortopi pushed a good chunk back at Ky’ia. “I couldn’t win. If you guys didn’t push me out of the game, Nox would have.”

“Nox wasn’t even playing!”

“No one said Nox wasn’t playing, either.”

“Everyone said Nox wasn’t playing!”

“Everyone but Nox and Franklin.”

Phinks burst out laughing, fell over onto his back with the force of it. Nox finally stopped drumming their heels.

“I knew it! I knew that was morse code, you sneaky fuck!”

Nox just smiled smugly and crossed their ankles. Franklin rumbled lowly with a laugh.

“Then why didn’t you say, huh?”

“I didn’t say I was  _ good _ at morse.”

Feitan tilted his head back to look up at Nox.

“You are awful.” He was delighted. Nox grinned down at him.

A throat was cleared in the doorway and everyone collectively looked over. There was Morel, leaning on his pipe. Knuckle was next to him, seemingly perplexed by the chaos in front of him. Morel reached in his front pocket and pulled out a deck of cards.

“If you guys are playing with Kortopi you should at least have the right deck,” he said conversationally. Nox tilted their head at him, memorizing his build, the casual strength he carried himself with. They would be working in perfect tandem. They needed to memorize his body language.

He tossed the deck to Kortopi, who caught it easily, ran a thumb over the case. His free hand flexed, and nothing happened. He couldn’t copy it.

“You must play with a lot of Nen users.”

“I’m a casual gambler. What game are you guys playing?” He was very relaxed. Knuckle was wound up, anxious, likely just following Shoot and Morel. Morel was a man that accepted the facts and adjusted appropriately. A good trait in a fighter.

“Phantom Rummy. It’s a twist on the regular rummy, but the rules are different.”

“Can you partner play?” There were a lot of people.

“Well not  _ normally, _ ” and here Ky’ia and Kortopi, and then Franklin and Nox were treated to a nasty glare from Nobunaga. He was delighted. How cute. “But yeah, sure.”

“And the rules are you have to cheat and not get caught?”

“Bit like bullshit, yeah,” Phinks confirmed.

“Mind if we join?” The two were still politely in the doorway.

“Yeah, sure, we can partner play. Though … Feitan. You wanna play?”

Feitan looked up at Nox and Nox looked down at him. Nah. He didn’t want to play. He was too busy watching sword forging videos, and they weren’t too invested in him playing with them.

“No,” Feitan said shortly.

Now that everyone was onto Nox’s bullshit, they begrudgingly patted Franklin’s head. One big hand came up and they stepped down. It was fun while it lasted. They would sit on his shoulder again at some point or another. It really was comfortable, and easier for them to talk to him.

Morel set down his pipe and took a seat next to Feitan, leaving enough space for Nox to nestle between them. It happened rather naturally. Nyx had said he could sign, which made things easy, and Nox was going to be working with him anyways. Knuckle looked awkward. He didn’t know where to go. Nox looked up at him and then pointed at Phinks. Phinks waved at him.

“Yo. You’re with me.”

Kortopi and Ky’ia settled in together, and Nobunaga joined Franklin.

“We don’t have a metric ton of stolen cash on us right now, so why don’t we gamble something else?” Morel asked as he shuffled the new deck of cards.

“What are you thinking?” Phinks asked. Morel started to deal.

“I’m a bit of an old soldier. When I meet new buddies, I like to swap war stories. Sometimes we gamble with them, with a bit of liquor. You write one name of one person you fought, or one detail about them, and you add it to the betting pool. Everyone hears them in the end, so it’s a little less of a rush, but hey. Call it a team building exercise.”

Knuckle had a look on his face like he had been through this many times. Nox almost pitied him. Morel had a certain cringey dad like quality to him.

“Only if you don’t try to arrest us,” Nobunaga replied dryly. “I don’t think our war stories are like yours at all.”

“Uh…” Ky’ia started to pipe up. Nox looked up and gave them a dull look.

“Ky’ia, if you try to say you don’t have any stories, I will kick you out of this house,” Phinks threatened.

“Sorry, are you saying the teenager right there has more stories than all of you?” Oh, Knuckle was finally speaking. Phinks leaned over to let him look at their hand.

“I’m a Ji’Tak receiver,” Ky’ia said sheepishly. “My stories may bore you.”

Knuckle stared at them dully, but Morel stirred in interest.

“What?”

“My tribe cultivates what you call Specialists, we call receivers, to retain the memories of our ancestors. I have many war stories, but they’re all a little dated.”

“I’m a fan of history.” Nox peeked over at their hand. Morel showed it to them and they crinkled their nose. All low numbers, not a single pair. Lousy. “I think it’ll be fine. Anyone got paper?”

Nox went to reach for their pocket, but Feitan didn’t even look up from his phone as he pulled out three notepads and passed them to them.

“Feitan, don’t you think that’s a little excessive?” Nobunaga asked.

“I found one of their notebooks in freezer once. Is not.” He didn’t have to embarrass them like that. Two pens were dumped in Nox’s lap and they sighed, rather excessively, and pulled out their phone to text him directly.

**Don’t be so rude.**

**Truth is not rude.**

Nox rolled their eyes dramatically and the game started up. A thought occurred to them. Telling their stories might be a little difficult. Passing a piece of paper around would be annoying, and they kind of hated text to speech with a violent passion.

“ _ Will you translate? _ ”

“Sure.” Morel was holding the cards for them. How thoughtful.

“ _ How do you know sign? _ ”

“I have a deaf Hunter buddy. Grachen. Lost his hearing from water damage when he was little, went on and made a tsunami hatsu when he was grown. Kinda weird guy. You’d like him.”

It was time to place their bets. Nox hesitated. Everyone was writing. How does one actually gamble like this? The majority of people in this room hadn’t even seen their hatsu. They just hadn’t gotten around to telling them yet.

Huh. Might as well start with the most recent.

_ Jewel. _

The paper was folded and tossed into the pile, and the game went on. From the corner of their eye, they could see Phinks was teaching again. Knuckle was hilariously bad at cheating. Nobunaga was physically restraining himself from laughter as Ky’ia watched in horror at how blatant it was. Kortopi was trying to figure out how to cheat without Nen, and Franklin was giving them that wry knowing glance.

“ _ He’s not going to get it, is he? _ ”

“Nope.” Morel was rather masterful. When he shuffled the deck, he’d slipped out all of the spade royals blatantly in front of the collection of thieves. Nox was willing to bet that when it came time for their turn, they’d find the deck stacked in their favor. The shit first hand was a ruse.

This game was a bit more somber. Not sad or tense, of course. It was too amusing to watch Phinks’ subtle attempts to teach Knuckle go right over his head. But it also didn’t have the raucous tone of the last.

“ _ Heads up you may find it a bit difficult to translate. They haven’t seen my hatsu, except for Feitan. _ ”

“Mmm? Why’s that?”

“ _ It’s a bit complicated. I had another they knew, but I lost it a few hours ago and … You guys arrived at a weird time. _ ”

“How do you lose a hatsu?”

Everyone collectively looked up. Feitan bumped their leg. Nox hadn’t said anything yet. They’d been enjoying.

“Nox, did the serum make you not a Specialist anymore?” Phinks blurted. Nox kind of wanted to cringe. Morel and Knuckle looked wildly confused.

“They do not need to be Specialist,” Feitan said wryly. “Very fine on their own.”

“Wait is that why Hisoka separated you two?” Nobunaga asked. Nox wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “Did he know?”

“There was a chance,” Feitan cut in. “Besides. Dance with Crows is better than Shadow Strike. Long range and short range. More destructive power. You all are ruining game. Quit being nosey.”

“How do you stop being a Specialist?” Knuckles blurted. “Is that even possible?”

“ _ It is if you alter your entire genetic structure. _ ”

“It is if you alter your entire genetic structure… Oh. So that’s why I saw Klaus Brentson leaving.”

“Why would you alter your entire genetic structure?” Knuckles looked bewildered. It did sound kind of crazy, now that he said it out loud.

“They’re a Gemini twin,” Nobunaga supplied.

“A what?”

“From the Gemini clan.” Morel looked down at Nox and they watched the cogs click into place. He got it now. He knew why Hisoka started so young. And why the twins were so young. “Anyways, Knuckle, we’re here to discuss war stories, not genetic structures. Bets, anyone?”

And just like that, the conversation was shut down. Nox leaned against Feitan slightly and he pressed back imperceptibly. Yeah. They were going to like working with Morel.

They wrote down another name and threw it into the pile.

_ Korgo. _

The names built up to four before they and Morel won the game.

_ Richards. _

_ Jojo. _

They didn’t list a single person the twins had killed together. Maybe because Nyx hadn’t said they could. Maybe because they didn’t want to admit that losing sharing pain, and, by proxy, Shadow Strike, was still a little fresh. They had wanted it. They did. They didn’t want to kill Nyx. They didn’t want to have to share every vulnerability, every pressure point, every trigger without a single choice forever. They wanted boundaries, and they simply could not exist with the existence of sharing pain. It was part of the reason they didn’t talk. They knew the lack of boundaries and desperate attempts to establish them played a part.

It was still a phantom pain.

But they were going to be happy right now. They would be happy until it was all over, and then they would let themselves grieve the loss. Because, ultimately, sharing pain was meant to be something holy, something sacred, and it had been desecrated, no, defiled, to something beyond recognition, and it had been yearning for a burial for a very long time now. Since before Hisoka. It needed to be laid to rest.

It was laid to rest now, and they would mourn it when it was time to mourn.

“... and then we got to the throne chamber, and there was Feitan, facing off against Zazan. Rest of the story is his, but whew, it was  _ nasty. _ ”

Nox looked up. Phinks had just finished sharing the story of his battle with the Chimera Ant. Chimera Ants could be a tricky subject, but it had been a deliberate choice. Knuckle’s posture was finally relaxed as he saw something he could finally hold in common with Phinks.

Feitan hadn’t looked up from his phone. He was a little distant today. It was to be expected. It was a weird day. He probably just wanted to hole up in privacy with Nox right now, but once again was being patient with what they wanted. Nox nudged him. He finally looked up and blinked at them.

“What?”

“ _ Phinks talked about you. _ ”

“Oh. What?”

“I was just talking about how the Chimera Ants took over Meteor City and how you got to be temporary leader.”

“Oh. What was lizard lady name again?”

“Zazan, dude.”

“Oh. Right.”

Nox wanted him to join the conversation. Even for a little bit. They scooched a little closer to him with all the cute they could muster. Phinks bit back a grin. He knew how their shit went.

“ _ I want to hear. _ ”

“About Zazan?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“I am not good at telling stories,” he said dryly. “I am told I miss many words. But Phinks can tell.”

“I can’t tell it that well, considering no one can actually see when you let loose Pain Packer,” Phinks pointed out. “Also, Knuckle, I hope your cardio is top notch, because we’re gonna have to punch Feitan and let him loose.”

Knuckle looked between the tiny Feitan and rather large Phinks and raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t read Hisoka’s handout.”

“ _ Those were Nyx’s _ ,” Nox cut in.

“Those were Nyx’s,” Morel echoed. Finally. Someone who could translate properly.

“They were? They didn’t talk much.”

“ _ I wonder why _ ,” Nox deadpanned. Morel studied them and looked back at Knuckle.

“I think that transcended human language.” Excellent translator.

“Sorry.” He was really just a massive teddy bear with a pompadour.

“Anyways,” Phinks interrupted, “Feitan, you should tell about Zazan. Stop worrying about missing words.”

“I do not worry.”

“Just go, while we’re in the sharing circle of murder and mayhem.”

Feitan sighed, as if he was very put upon, and started to talk. Nox sat, enraptured as he described the ferocity of the fight, the way they flew off walls, the way it dragged on for thirty minutes before she finally landed a hit.

“I pity her, really. Her hide was very tough, and she was very durable, so with just broken arm, it took far longer for her to die,” he said casually. “Rising Sun came. It was very slow. Took her several minutes to die. Humans are much faster to die with much smaller damage. Like Gorten. Gorten took very little time. She did die, though. And that was the fight.”

“You did Gorten?” Morel cut in.

“Me and Nox, yes.”

“So did you make that hole?”

“Mmm? Oh, no. That was Nox.”

Morel frowned and unfolded his paper with the team information.

“You just conjure crows?”

“ _ Yes. Very angry crows. _ ”

“Nox, it’s your turn. Jewel? The Gorten Manipulator?” Phinks prompted.

Nox turned to Feitan.

“ _ Explain hatsu, please. _ ” That would make things a lot faster.

Feitan gave a brief breakdown, skipping over some of the conditions to keep it short. Everyone nodded, following along, and Nox barely held back a sigh of relief that they weren’t surrounded by hatsu snobs like Chrollo.

“Pretty cool. Anyways. Jewel?” Phinks seemed to love swapping war stories. He was a glutton. Nyx shook out their hands, cracked their fingers, and looked up at Morel.

“ _ Can you keep up? _ ”

“Just don’t talk fast and we’re golden, kid.”

And so Nox started to talk. Morel waited, and then jumped in, keeping up with their hands. It felt really nice, to finally be able to talk. They told how the fight started, how the hole had happened, kept it just gory enough to keep Phinks happy, but not so gory that Ky’ia would be sent screaming, explained their decision making process that encouraged them to keep the birds in the air as they went on the frontal assault, skipped over the sexual comments, made sure to include the wall kick because for some weird reason that was Feitan’s favorite part, and then told Ky’ia to brace themselves before they told how Ri had ripped through her and pulverized her bones and cartilage.

Feitan’s eyes were shining. No one overreacted to their story. It was business as usual for them. They hung onto the tension, relished it, followed every moment, but not because it was shocking, but because it was normal. It felt good.

“Oh. I get it now.” Nobunaga was now speaking. “Feitan was all wound up after Gorten. It was because you fight dirty as fuck.”

Feitan glared. Nox shrugged.

“ _ Fight to win. _ ”

“Anyways, Ky’ia, you’re next.”

Morel straightened up as Ky’ia studied their paper.

“Well, I picked someone that was not originally from the Ji’Tak, but married in after he stopped his life as a pirate. He worked with a member from our tribe, a man named Ko’thor, and they fell in love after a long period spent working together in what we call the Great War, you call the War of the Sea. Pirates were commonly hired as mercenaries and promised the spoils for their conquests. I thought he would be appropriate to tell you Spiders about. His name was Gunther Favre. I believe there is an urban legend about him out here, that he just vanished in the night one day and was never seen again. He actually went to the mountain at the age of forty. And, no, there was no treasure. He didn’t need his riches on the mountain, so he left them to his truest crew members who had stayed with him for two decades of marauding.”

All of the Spiders looked crestfallen. Gunter Favre had spawned a great many conspiracy theories, and if you told any group of professional thieves that there was no legendary treasure from an infamous pirate they would be a little disappointed.

“ _ Don’t look so disappointed, assholes, it’s sweet. _ ”

Morel obligingly translated with the explicative.

“Hey, I, for one, am disappointed because I was really not mentally prepared for having a literal legend with so many amazing conspiracies get ruined today,” Knuckle spoke up. “I really thought he found some kind of way to reach immortality, okay.”

“Well, I guess he did in a way. The Ji’Tak holds all of his memories. Every single one, from childhood to death.”

“Anyways, what was the fight, Ky’ia?” Nobunaga was as focused as Phinks tonight.

“The first time he met Ko’Thor it was during a failed assassination attempt. Ko’Thor was a mercenary, a Nen user, a Manipulator, who could warp wood and make it come alive. It’s not in the history books, but Gunter was also a Nen user, a Specialist who could connect himself to a ship, specifically the Distressing Damsel, and make it come alive. Literally. He could emit powerful blasts of Nen from the cannons, conjure up a skeleton crew, manipulate the ropes and pulleys, enhance it to take a hit or ram, transmute barriers to keep water from getting in the decks if there was a hole blown in the hull. His connection to his ship was the reason he was so infamous. He was unstoppable. That is, until he met Ko’Thor.”

Ky’ia started to tell the tale. It was hair raising. A swashbuckling tale of cutlasses and wide brimmed hats on the open seas. Two men, in a thunderstorm, battling it out on the deck of a ship as Ko’Thor made the wood come alive and attack Gunter, and Gunter pressing back against the control of his ship. Ky’ia described the boom of the waves on the hull, how the ship shook with the strain, how Gunter felt every line that snapped, how he felt the sails swell in the powerful winds, so close to breaking the masts if he hadn’t reinforced them. How well he knew the seas, knew exactly where he was going, how he was going to get to the eye of the storm, guiding his ship there in the midst of a battle with an opponent who was so determined to trip him at every step. How his heart raced and his mind fought to control every variable, how keeping both him and Ko’Thor alive in the midst of the battle dominated his every movement, every thought. Because he knew what Ko’Thor didn’t: this was no ordinary storm. It was a hurricane, and he was battling nature and man at the same time to keep the ship from being ripped to pieces.

“It’s so strange to know I can remember thoughts the people forgot,” Ky’ia said thoughtfully. “Because years later, Gunter told people he couldn’t remember a moment, a glance where he fell in love. He believed it happened naturally, grew over time, but I remember it for him. Ko’Thor fought in a mask, but Gunter was a cocky fighter and skilled with a cutlass. One tiny slash from him split the mask in half, and Ko’Thor’s face was there. Ko’Thor was a beautiful man. He had a strong nose, high cheekbones, a broad brow, skin a few shades darker than mine. Gunter froze up. He didn’t expect it. It was only a second, but Ko’Thor laughed at him and said ‘am I too pretty for you?’ I think this was one of the first memories I received. I have a lot of memories, a lot of lives tucked away, but there’s not many people who fall in love at first sight. He was fighting nature herself with his Nen that day, but it was ultimately human nature that brought him to his knees. Because as they finally reached the eye of the storm, as the winds died and the rain became a light sprinkle, his relief that he didn’t understand that Ko’Thor had survived the monster of a storm that nearly tore his ship to pieces drove him to make a mistake. Ko’Thor trapped him with the wood of his ship, brought him down to his knees, put his cutlass to his neck, and asked him how, exactly, now that he’d won and they were still in the middle of a hurricane, did Gunter plan on getting them out.”

“Well, what happened?” Franklin was a quiet sort, but his eyes were shining. Everyone was a bit excited to hear a story no one had ever heard, would kill to hear.

“Ko’Thor had to let him go so they could get out of the hurricane,” Ky’ia said with a wry grin. “They ended up stranded together for days until Gunter got them back to land. Ko’Thor had been meant to assassinate him while his crew was on shore leave, but hadn’t known the truth of the Distressing Damsel. After an experience like that, they never managed to kill each other. They just went through the motions until the war ended. Then Ko’Thor and him continued to clash, right until Gunter found him out of work and not ready to go home, and asked him to be his first mate. They sailed together for several years, and eventually Gunter learned that it was common practice for men to wed in the Ji’Tak. He fumbled asking the question for months until Ko’Thor asked him instead. And then Gunter retired, gave his wealth to his crew and the widows and children of the men that had died under his command, and joined the Ji’Tak with Ko’Thor.”

“But what about the Distressing Damsel? That was his hatsu.” Knuckle was equally enraptured.

“She was old at that point. Nen enhancement only went so far. She had been old when he obtained her and linked her to his Nen. So he sunk her. Gave her a proper burial. Ko’Thor took the helm and turned it into a tree in the heart of the city. We call it the … Mmm … I think it loosely translates to ‘Seaman’s Lover Tree’. Sounds better in Ji’Tak. Su’ven’ko Molo. It’s where people have their weddings now.”

Everyone fell into a comfortable silence. Nox knew what Morel was doing, and it was smart. Sitting around in a circle, playing cards, swapping stories for bets. Knuckle had been a strategic choice to bring along. Out of everyone in the band of exterminators, he was the most reluctant, following the leader but suspicious of intentions. This kind of bonding could put that fear to rest. And then Ky’ia had come in out of left field with a story of a legendary figure, with the truth of his life and times, and now everyone felt like they shared a special kind of secret together. Ky’ia really was very perceptive, despite their naivete. That had been a deliberate choice to share the story of Gunter. They had hundreds of stories of unknown mercenaries, forgotten soldiers, probably with just as good tension and drama.

“Well, I guess it’s me next,” Nobunaga said gruffly, and the silence was broken. “Dunno how I can follow up after  _ that _ , but here goes. Hanes. This kinda dickish Bounty Hunter who confused me with someone else.”

Nobunaga launched into his rather comical story, and the night stretched on. The group of nine worked their way through their four stories, with Feitan throwing a second story at Kortopi’s request. It was three hours before they finished. They laid around for a little longer, shot the shit until Shoot peeked in and told Morel that Chrollo was wanting to talk to him, and they all slowly dispersed after that.

Nox felt better. They missed people for a long time, though they’d never admit it. After all, how could you miss something you could scarcely remember? Having Morel translate so easily for them had been a relief. They had interacted with troupe members one on one, maybe two or three at a time, but it hadn’t really been like that before. They’d just been too busy to really hang out. And everyone was constantly in and out, a constant revolving door of people rushing here and there to get things done. Now it was only a waiting game. Everyone was gathering at the manor. The work was pretty much done. Nox scarcely remembered a time when there wasn’t work, except for forced breaks from Hisoka. There was always the reminder that it would be back. This was different.

They should be stressed, high strung. But instead they were just comfortable.

“Hey.” Feitan nudged them as they finished swallowing down the last bits of their shake. It was midnight. Time for bed. Nox tilted their head at him questioningly.

“Where will you sleep?”

Nox considered it. They could go back to the room they shared with Nyx, but it felt off. Crowded. It had from the start, but now it just seemed weird.

This was going to be the first night they had a chance of getting eight hours. They weren’t sure their body could even manage it. It was almost shocking to realize.

Their body still hurt, of course. But it was that good workout pain you barely noticed. Nox almost felt like something was missing. How odd. They hadn’t thought they’d experience that sensation.

Nox reached forward and put one finger on Feitan’s chest. They’d text Nyx, but they didn’t need to share their Nen to know that they needed to be in separate bedrooms. Nyx needed space, too.

“Should we go to bed?”

Nox nodded. Yeah. They’d like to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're having a great Monday!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	64. The Chains and The Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illumi and Kurapika arrive at the manor.

Hisoka watched from the balcony as Illumi arrived with Kalluto in the driver's seat. Apparently he’d decided twelve was an appropriate time to learn now that Kalluto could almost reach the pedals.

Hisoka didn’t know what he was going to say, really. There had once been romantic feelings there. How could there not be? But it was just something that could never happen. Someone had died once for Hisoka’s lies, and he was never ready to welcome another. And, anyways, Illumi’s brainwashing would have put a big dent in Hisoka’s values, and no amount of arguing could pull him out of it. Hisoka had the twins to protect, first and foremost. Neither were in a place where it could have worked. And so, the feelings had faded, unsaid and left alone. But the two of them had had some kind of quiet understanding. There was something akin to mutual trust there, or at least as close as Illumi could get to it, despite his warnings to stay away from Killua. It had actually been that moment that Hisoka had considered telling him, all of it. But, in the end, he had been too paranoid.

He supposed in these circumstances the truth was going to come out eventually. They had once been something close to best friends, even after the awkwardness where they realized there were too many unearthed lies between them. Illumi had once told him he could tell Hisoka wasn’t really like that, how he was very good at lying but couldn’t quite pull it off when it came to kids. He told him he was too well rehearsed. Hisoka had considered telling him then, too, when they sat on top of that building, discussing a new job Illumi wanted to hire him for.

There had been a lot of moments when he considered telling him. The auction, after Uvogin was firmly dead and Hisoka felt like he would explode if he didn’t tell someone, anyone. And then the hospital had happened and a chasm opened up between them.

The twins had a dangerous mission. And Hisoka could simply not afford a target that large on his back. He needed to be working remotely, in their ears as he directed them through a variety of security doors and biometrics. He wasn’t as good as Nyx at it, but someone had to teach them. And Nox had been so fragile after Jun, flickering tension and silence. It had been the first time they refused cocoa. It had only been a month previous. He didn’t want them to have to go in alone, and they needed Shadow Sight.

Illumi had his family to worry about, and Hisoka had his.

Nox had started using charcoal as a medium after Jun, filled up their room with red sharpies. Nyx would not stop working, would barely eat. Hisoka couldn’t just leave them.

He didn’t feel bad. Illumi would understand, after all. Hisoka never found out why he was so stressed, but there was a family secret there at the hospital. The Zoldycks had a lot of secrets. He had been surprised when Kalluto kept his.

The two pulled up to park and Illumi stepped out, stared at Hisoka, and Hisoka pushed himself off his elbows and walked inside. Kalluto had told him everything. There was nothing for Hisoka to say, really.

Hisoka sat down to scroll through his phone aimlessly. This lack of work was driving him up the wall. Everything was done. Nyx and Shalnark had gotten a monster of an external hard drive for the info drop. Hisoka had helped Nyx sort through everything, take out the things they didn’t need, the small clues that led them to this or that, the auxiliary information, the worst of the photographs and videos that people didn’t need to see. They included lists of names of people involved, their power, the Nen abilities Hisoka had seen, where their money led to. And then they included lists of the dead. The names of the children Hisoka had managed to dig up, the locations of the graves. That had been a bit too much for him, and he had to leave. Nyx had said they would give the rest of it to the Association via Ging. When he came to pick up Gon and Kalluto they’d hand it off.

He’d already sent his pre recorded video to include with the dump. Hisoka hadn’t watched it. Nyx said it was short, just confirming the authenticity, explaining that he had commissioned this project fifteen years ago. Hisoka wasn’t named. Ging did name Daiten, said it started as two people and became one, and then became three.

The word of a Zodiac, even as reviled as Ging, would spur people to action.

Hopefully it wouldn’t get too chaotic.

The door swung open. Hisoka didn’t look up. You couldn’t hear Illumi walk.

He came to a stop in front of Hisoka and then woodenly sat down in the opposing armchair. Hisoka still didn’t look.

He didn’t feel guilty. It had been justified. It was just slightly awkward.

“Twins,” Illumi finally said.

“Yes. Twins.”

“I thought it would be worse.”

“You haven’t met them yet.”

“I see.”

Hisoka commented on a post, hit send, and still didn’t look up.

“Are they as ill disciplined as you?” Leave it to Illumi to hear Hisoka was undercover for a decade and still think he was badly disciplined. Hisoka, objectively, had more discipline than him.

“Sometimes.”

“You could have told me.”

“I had no reason. You are too family oriented to take up a cause. Enlisting you would be the only logical reason to include you in the secret. Besides. What happens if our goals don’t align?”

Illumi was silent. He could see the problem. The second some strange circumstance put them in the way of a contract, or a goal, Illumi would have to kill them. There was no way around it.

“I see.”

“Don’t act so betrayed. It’s not a good look on you,” Hisoka chided. “You have plenty of secrets yourself.”

“I wasn’t hiding an entire family and fake identity from you.” Ouch. He really was a little hurt.

“I still had my reasons. You should be able to recognize that.”

“You could have at least kept me from taking unsavory contracts.”

“I did,” Hisoka replied simply. Because he had. Whenever he caught wind of Illumi about to take a contract from a target, he always invented a contract, called in a favor, intentionally put down roadblocks. He had known Illumi would quietly loathe it when he eventually found out, be angry with Hisoka for not stopping it. Hisoka had protected him, in a way. It was odd to think about, protecting a Zoldyck. It was even odder to think that he loved a Zoldyck, even after all these years.

It clicked. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, but he knew it clicked.

“You did it rather deceptively.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“When I first met you,” Illumi said, “you were standing in my way. Eight years ago. Do you remember?”

Hisoka did. Daiten had sent him on a reconnaissance mission. It had been just before he died. Hisoka didn’t know who he was, but he wasn’t in the ring, and Hisoka needed to get in, seduce a contact, get the information, and get out. Possibly kill him, if need be. At the time, eighteen year old Hisoka had already made a name for himself for killing his bedmates. People liked that. Gave them a rush. Hisoka had recognized Illumi as at least being an assassin immediately, and he needed as little interference as possible.

“I do,” he said evenly.

“I found it inconvenient that you challenged me, but over time I found it refreshing. You were on a mission, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“So it was like this from the beginning.”

“Yes.”

Illumi was silent. He wasn’t going to get an apology from Hisoka.

“Will they know that it was you?”

“Not if I can help it, no.”

“What about the twins?”

“What about them?”

“Will they get recognition for what they did?”

“They’d rather not be well known. People would want to actually talk to them.” Nyx would hate it. Nox would like it, at first, and then realize how superficial people were and hate it even more.

“Someone will eventually figure it out.”

“We’d like to enjoy the quiet for awhile. Get set up as ourselves first, not as … Whatever we qualify as.” Victims. It really boiled down to the Morrows not wanting to be seen as victims.

“I see.”

“Do you feel marginally less betrayed now, or do I have to hold you tenderly?” Hisoka asked wryly.

“Don’t touch me.”

“How much is Chrollo paying you?” It had been bothering Hisoka.

“I wrote the terms as three jenny.”

Hisoka stared at him dully.

“What.”

“My mother raised me with impeccable manners. It would be rude to accept money for this.” Illumi made to stand, and then stopped. “I saw Killua’s friends getting gas on the way here. You may want to get ready.”

Oh. Right. Kurapika. And Gon was still here, so seeing Illumi must have been a shock to the system, if he had seen him yet. Hisoka had a sneaking suspicion that with all the people here, talking and discussing the strike, Gon had already caught on, finally, and was close to utterly losing it. Illumi was the icing on the cake.

It was going to escalate to chaos soon. The strike was two days away, and they would be mobilizing tomorrow. The moving vans had already taken most of the boxes to an undisclosed location, and Klaus had left the day he came with most of the Morrows’ clothes to take back to the bungalow.

Kurapika was smart for putting off coming for as long as physically possible. Ky’ia and Nyx were sharing a bed now, and Nox and Feitan were holed up in his room. Hisoka felt old.

“Oh. Hisoka?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for keeping Kalluto out of it.”

“You have Chrollo to thank for that. He banished them for an entire month.”

“Them.” Illumi was hard to read, but it looked like he was tasting it on his tongue. Perhaps Kalluto finally put their foot down since being around three other trans people. Illumi was not the type to understand hints well, and Kalluto was notorious for doing nothing but dropping hints. “Of course.”

“Hisoka.” Hisoka tilted his head.

“Yes?”

Illumi’s pause was a long one. He seemed to be struggling with something. Hisoka knew what was coming. He hated that Illumi regarded him well enough to deign to care on occasion.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” It was an elephant in the room. Hisoka had never told Illumi where he came from, but Illumi had always known it was that damnable circus. And he had once, only once, seen Hisoka in the aftermath of Alexandre. He never asked. He wouldn’t. How could one ask about something like that? But he knew.

It had been in the aftermath that they lost each other. Hisoka didn’t regret it. It just … still hurt. Sometimes. There were a lot of “could have beens” in his life. Illumi was just another.

“I see.” Illumi didn’t know how to pursue it. Hisoka was too close now to fall apart. He had said it once, only once.

He had been nineteen.

He didn’t regret meeting the twins. They were his everything. Like he had said to Feitan, you couldn’t understand that kind of love until you did it yourself, and then you realize love was too small a word. Hisoka was a deeply, deeply selfish person. But he wasn’t so selfish that he wouldn’t take it all back, change it if he could. If he could spare them even one minute of this pain, even at the cost of his own salvation, he would do it in a heartbeat.

They didn’t blame him. It made it worse. They didn’t realize he would give them up in an instant if it meant they could be happy. All Hisoka wanted was to see them with everything life had robbed them of. He could hardly give them that. He’d done very little to deserve that quiet, constant, unending forgiveness. Everything about the twins was unconditional, and it made it all hurt worse.

“You shouldn’t ask about things you can’t press me on, Illumi,” Hisoka said softly.

“I can press you,” Illumi replied.

“No, you can’t, and you know it.”

“But you want to say it.”

He was pressing, in his own way. Illumi was a master of devastating one liners. Hisoka was hurting, quietly, seething in pain because if he hadn’t been so  _ resistant _ to even glancing at the circus, if they hadn’t developed their dance of avoiding things that piled on the pain, they would have seen it. Nyx would have found it. Nox would have. Hisoka could have. But mercy, in the end, only caused more pain.

“I think some things don’t require words,” Hisoka said stiffly. Illumi tilted his head.

“For me, not you.” Devastating again. Hisoka almost hated him, because it was that one line that made him snap.

“I can’t focus on it right now. I can’t focus, because for the past seven years I have been nothing but a complete failure, and if I talk about it I won’t be able to make it to the one day that I can stop being a failure. So stop your … your fucking … your shit, and leave it.”

Hisoka hadn’t just failed the twins. The numbers were running through his head. In total, there were over six hundred little bodies, not even old enough to need deoderant. One hundred and twenty seven children in the past year alone lined those mass graves. One hundred and twenty seven and it was his own fucking fault.

The coincidence was painful. One hundred and twenty seven bodies were buried on the coast, miles away, of the family that the twins had lost. He couldn’t have stopped that one. It was out of his control.

They had never gone back. Hisoka had, when he bought the land, put up no trespassing signs, stared at the home they had been ripped away from, wondered how to make his own. Someone had painstakingly buried every last one, marked their graves with their own blood, and he didn’t know who to thank for it.

Illumi was staring at him. Hisoka was paying more attention to the rug on the floor, the intricate pattern. It was worth a fortune, here just to walk on. A bit like Hisoka.

“You haven’t been a failure,” Illumi said. Hisoka looked up. Hilarious. Illumi was trying to comfort him. “My siblings do nothing but run from me. You aren’t even related to these … these twins, and all they do is run to you. I don’t believe that counts you as a failure. I would consider you more successful than me.”

Hisoka swallowed. He’d failed them.

“What does it matter if I couldn’t even protect them from needing me in the first place?”

Illumi didn’t have a response for that. He stared down at the rug and Hisoka felt that ocean between them again. The two of them were from different worlds. Illumi had it all handed to him and he didn’t know what to do with it, and Hisoka had everything taken away and didn’t know what to do with the scraps he had left. Illumi hadn’t needed to build a family from the ground up. He hadn’t had to claw it into life with bloody fingernails and screams that no more, no more would be taken from him. He could never understand.

“I think … I think that may be up to them. They are still here, aren’t they? So it would … it would seem it matters a lot.”

Devastating one liners again. Hisoka had gone and broken what little heart Illumi had and here he was, finding some kind of meaning in Hisoka’s life that Hisoka just couldn’t see.

He should have told him. He should have told him why he didn’t go to that hospital, why he didn’t help when it mattered the most. He should have told him his own family was more important to Hisoka than Illumi’s. He should have told him how Nox’s eyes had lost that sheen, how Nyx would sit and stare at a blank screen waiting for the updates to go through, wouldn’t move, wouldn’t flinch, would just wait. He should have told him he didn’t know what to do, so he  _ had _ to do this. He should have told him he was terrified they wouldn’t make it out okay.

“Thank you,” Hisoka said lowly. It did matter. He didn’t know why, he couldn’t understand it, but it mattered to the twins. And that meant that somehow, someway, he was doing something right.

“You’re welcome,” Illumi said mechanically. Silence fell again. The Kurta kid was going to be here soon. Hisoka needed to run away from this conversation.

“Well, the twins are in the garden,” Hisoka said and stood. “Nyx can get rather nasty when something isn’t going their way, so I should check on them.”

“Are things not going their way?”

“They’re practicing with Shoot. He’s still not able to hold up in Orbitwalk, but he needs to be able to properly use Hotel Rafflesia in the event of an emergency. So they’re frustrated.”

Also because everyone kept jumping into Orbitwalk to play a game and it was distracting. But Illumi didn’t need to know he was going to be working with complete idiots.

“I will go with you,” Illumi said and stood. So he was going to know he was working with complete idiots. Oh, well. At least his team was decent.

There was screaming coming from the garden. Hisoka’s heart sunk a little. They sounded like they were having a little too much fun.

As the two of them walked out of the kitchen door, Hisoka’s fears were made real. Shoot was focused, trying very hard to keep his Nen wrapped around his foot and hand, but the additional distraction of Gon floating around with Phinks and Nobunaga was not helping. They were all covered in dirt and grass. Nyx had evidently dropped them multiple times and had just given up. At least it was helping Shoot figure out how to avoid obstacles, but had Hisoka possessed any shame, he would be embarrassed right now.

Nox was quietly sitting on the stoop with Feitan, Morel, and Knuckle. Hisoka looked down at them.

“No luck yet?”

Nox shook their head as they laid down another set of multiples. Aces. Nice.

Shoot detached from his hand again, floated up, and it soared to meet him and catch him. That wasn’t good enough for Nyx, who aggressively signed at him.

“ _ Harden your Shu! _ ”

“Nyx, it doesn’t need to be perfect, darling. His opponents are slowed down enough as is,” Hisoka called mildly.

“That’s what I said,” Knuckle muttered. Both Knuckle and Hisoka were met with a glare from Nyx.

“ _ Do you want him mildly injured or heavily? _ ”

“Nyx, he doesn’t understand you,” Hisoka pointed out.

“I think that transcended human language,” Knuckle said with a wince. “And are they always this angry?”

**Only sometimes. They like him. ** Nox tossed the notepad and he tossed it back fluidly.

“Glad they don’t like me.”

Feitan laid down a king, queen, and jack. Nox glared at him. Oh, they were playing house rules.

Illumi tilted his head at the chaos in front of him.

“But why do they not just …” He trailed off as Gon finally noticed him. Nox’s head jerked up. Hisoka was confused, but they set down their hand and made a beeline for the door. Feitan leaned over to peek at the cards, and Hisoka very firmly placed his foot on top of them without a glance.

“Why don’t they just what?”

Illumi didn’t have to answer as the door practically exploded open and a cylindrical shape flew across the porch and yard to nail Nyx directly on the back of their head. The roll of duct tape hit the ground, rolled a few inches, and fell onto its side. Nox stood there, evidently fed up with the constant practice and yelling, and silence passed for a few seconds before Morel began to roar with laughter.

“Oh. Right,” Knuckle said dully. “Duct tape.”

Orbitwalk dropped and Phinks, Nobunaga, and Gon crashed to the ground for what Hisoka suspected to be the tenth time at least. Nyx picked up the duct tape as Shoot delicately stepped to the ground. They both looked a little embarrassed.

“Well,” Morel declared. “That problem’s fixed.”

Gon stood up, brushed himself off, and looked directly at Illumi.

“Killua doesn’t know I’m here,” Gon said flatly. “He told Ging to come, but he doesn’t know.”

“I have not spoken to him in months,” Illumi replied. “He will not hear it from me. Or Kalluto.”

Hisoka looked between the two of them. There was a nasty history there. But, then again, there was a nasty history with the troupe. And with Hisoka himself. Gon was getting better at laying aside differences for a short while. He definitely knew. And he was apparently handling it well.

“Good,” Gon said firmly. Hisoka would read into that, but he figured it was best to leave Gon alone.

There was the sound of a car pulling up out front and Gon brightened up before sprinting around the side of the building. It would have taken less time for him to go through the house, but whatever. Hisoka let out a quiet sigh and followed him. The full team was here now, and it was time to take this explosive mixture and direct it properly.

Nyx tossed the duct tape up, caught it, and handed it to Shoot. Then they followed, Nox hot on their heels.

“Leoriooo!” Gon was yelling. Hisoka rounded the corner in time to see him crash into both Leorio and Kurapika. Leorio laughed loudly, ruffled his hair, as Kurapika froze up before returning the hug.

“You got your Nen back!” Leorio declared.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys I was here! It was only a month and the twins were such good teachers and I just didn’t know if I should tell Ging or not because I couldn’t tell and I’m so sorry Kurapika!”

“It’s okay, Gon,” Kurapika said. He glared at Hisoka over Gon’s head. “You didn’t have much of a choice.”

Hisoka was unfazed. Kurapika could be as pissed as he wanted, but he knew it was the only way this could have worked.

The twins came up to flank him. Gon disentangled himself from his friends. He was going to cry again. Really, he was the perfect student for Nox.

Basho and Bisky stepped out of the car. The doors slammed. Basho was the only one Hisoka had limited experience with. He’d seen a lot of the exterminators in action after NGL. They’d landed on his radar. Bisky was a legendary teacher, and there was Greed Island. Basho was every inch the wild card Kurapika was, which was why he’d decided to keep him close. A conjuration ability without any limitations as to what he could conjure made it difficult to place him anywhere specific.

He’d already texted Kurapika the teams. The others had gotten here early. They needed time to spend understanding who they were working with. Hisoka had neglected to mention the reason for putting him with Nyx.

“Kurapika,” Hisoka said. “Meet Nox here,” a hand was placed on Nox’s head, “and more specifically Nyx, my younger siblings.” And then his free hand patted Nyx’s mass of curls. “I agreed with Ging because you have maintained my secret since York New. You’re an honorable sort, tragically, so I know you won’t back out of a promise. But you have a nasty temper I don’t trust. I couldn’t place you in an all Hunter group, we have too few people, and you know you’re with Shizuku. So this is your only warning. Should you try to attack Shizuku in a fit, at any time, Nyx will restrain you with Orbitwalk. They have the ability to steal Nen when someone makes an attack in their zero gravity. They can kill you with your own Nen, but out of deference to you maintaining our secret, I’ve asked them not to. I’m telling you so you understand the risks. We cannot afford anyone losing their temper and throwing the mission here, and we were promised that the troupe would not be attacked by their teammates immediately after.”

It only seemed to mildly annoy Kurapika. He was a very calculated individual. He saw the logic in it, despite his irritation. And he appreciated that Hisoka had told him. Hisoka could see it. There was no double crossing here, just pure honesty and understanding. No secrets.

Bisky seemed to find it amusing. He could see it in the way her lips tilted up.

“I understand,” Kurapika said shortly.

He had started dressing like a mafioso. The tribal garments were forgotten, putting him in a black suit with a loose tie, a gun strapped to his thigh. He seemed a little more at peace. Hisoka hadn’t seen him in years. Leorio looked different, too. The suit was more pricey. He’d finished school. The last time Hisoka had checked in, he had chosen sign language as a second language, and that had softened Hisoka a little towards him. Maybe after this he’d introduce him to Klaus. Leorio would have a heart attack.

Bisky had just changed her dress after Greed Island, took on a slightly older look, more consistent with a twenty one year old woman. Less ruffles and frills, but still young and easily underestimated. Good. She was experimenting.

Basho was in a vest. Hisoka wasn’t sure why he felt the need to have his chest so openly out and blatant, but, hey, despite the ugly sideburns, he was decidedly falling in the eye candy territory. He could enjoy. Chrollo may have stolen his heart like the thief he was, but Hisoka still had eyes.

Bono’s truck was rolling up the drive with Shalnark behind the wheel. In the back was Franklin with a rather excessive stack of pizzas. Well. Not so excessive. They’d tried to go through all the groceries before they left, and they had twenty four, no, twenty seven people to feed. And they all had Nen. Not that the twins were going to be eating, but still. Lots of people to feed.

“Looks like food is here,” Hisoka said cooly. “Ging should be getting here soon and we have a meeting before we all leave tomorrow. Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're inching closer and closer to the action! Have some hisoillu.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	65. The Pizza and The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ring busters meet one last time for a briefing. Nox cries as usual.

This was the strangest hodgepodge of people in a room. Nox was back on Franklin’s shoulder, sipping on their green shake, with a recently orange haired Nyx leaned against his leg. What furniture was left had been gathered in the ballroom. The exterminators were mixed rather evenly with the troupe, Knov rather comfortable with Machi, Morel and Bono were two peas in a pod, Shoot, Knuckle, Phinks, and Nobunaga were getting along well, though the latter three were steadily losing brain cells in each other’s presence, and Palm was seated on the floor with Kortopi. Feitan and Ky’ia had clustered around Franklin, too. Shalnark was on the other side of Nyx, the two of them huddled over a laptop trying to fix a line of code on something. It was starting to piss them both off, though neither would ever show it. They had about twelve tabs open trying to find a way to fix it. The Zoldycks were sharing a couch with Chrollo and Hisoka, Kalluto perched on the arm with Illumi next to them. They seemed to be showing him something on their phone. Gon’s friends seemed fairly awkward in the space, until Bisky marched right over to Machi and Knov and took a seat.

The tension left after that, and Gon was telling Kurapika and Leorio about their teaching methods. Nox ignored the stares. Gon was very proud of how much he had come along in physical combat. He was certain that he was faster now. Only marginally. For the most part, he was just more aware of his body and momentum.

Almost everyone was finished eating. Nox was still taking their time with the shake.

Ging arrived in relative silence. Almost no one noticed at first until he threw the door open and walked right over to slump down next to Gon.

“Hey, kid,” he said and ruffled his hair. “Any pizza left?”

Nox hadn’t seen him yet. He did not look very well put together. He was actually kind of a mess. Then again, from what they’d seen, most Ruins Hunters were.

Gon handed him a box he’d saved and Ging took a voracious bite.

“So are we gonna get started?”

“Just waiting on you, Ging,” Hisoka said smoothly, perhaps a little too smoothly. “I suppose it’s me, yes?”

“Yep. All you,” Ging said and took another bite. Hisoka stood, stretched, and took a deep breath.

“The first part of the strike will be done by Shalnark, Ky’ia, and Palm. Feanor Technologies hosts the servers to most Hunter sites. Ky’ia will use their hallucination hatsu, Neverland, to get them past security and into the server room, where Shalnark will upload the primary file, complete with Ging’s video to provide proof of authenticity. As Shalnark is only a major combatant when using Autopilot, and Ky’ia is only trained enough to handle basic self defense to give themselves a chance to run, Palm will function as a bodyguard in case things go wrong, since her hair is uniquely suited to the task. I was going to do a countdown, but since we have to allow for roadblocks, all of the Hunters will get notifications on their phones when the file is live. I mean the entire Association. There is at least one Hunter on each team, so that will be the signal to strike.”

Hisoka took a careful sip of water. He was excited. Nox didn’t blame him. They could feel it now, in their bones.

“Morel’s team will take York New. There are several locations. Brothels, hotels, saunas, actual homes where children are kept. They’re too far spread out, so Nox and Morel will use their ninjas and crows to herd the targets into a bottleneck, where Franklin and Bono will be waiting to mow them down. Morel will have Franklin, and Nox will have Bono. There is the largest Hunter concentration in the city, and plenty of them are smart enough to catch onto such an obvious formation to work with it.”

People had only received the lists of their own teams. They were nodding, seeing the sense in the design.

“Nyx’s team will take Deylin. This is where the primary cash flow goes through, the major financiers and investors. Cover up efforts originate from Deylin. The bonus to Deylin is much of the carnage will be contained to small, enclosed spaces, primarily houses of the cover up specialists, who all are within a decent distance of each other. They have nasty bodyguards, but we have studied each one and determined most of them are ill suited to fight against Orbitwalk. Shoot will be the mobile one, Kurapika’s chains should work in zero gravity, and Shizuku uses a vacuum, which should work just fine. This is an assassination effort. It will need some degree of  _ discretion _ ,” and here a pointed stare was directed at Nyx, who responded with their own incredulous look, “and  _ silence _ .” The next pointed stare was for Kurapika. He ignored it. Hisoka continued.

“Gorten will be our biggest challenge, which is why we are delegating it to five people. It is the primary source of muscle for the ring. Every gang has some degree of involvement. There are several powerful Nen users, and every single mafioso is a fighter. The fewer combatants to deal with, the better. Machi will block off escape routes with her threads and spread a web to drive men into Knov’s traps. There will still be a bulk of men to fight after the traps, so Illumi’s primary concern will be needling as many people as he can to provide support to Nobunaga and Biscuit, whose job is to take down as many of the users as they physically can. There are not many Hunters here. I called in a few favors and have found perhaps seven, who may choose to stay out of the fight. It will be ugly.”

It was going to be difficult. Everyone in the room knew that, even without knowledge of the numbers. They were sending in five people to fight an army. Bisky and Knov looked quietly worried. Hisoka cleared his throat.

“Tindin is where we need to set off our bomb. Figuratively, perhaps literally, depending on how you look at it. There is a meeting that tends to take days to never reach a conclusion, with several small and large bosses. Phinks, Leorio, Feitan, and Knuckle will be taking it on. The plan is for either Phinks or Leorio to punch Feitan hard enough to incur significant damage, send him into the meeting hall, and the three will run out of range while Rising Sun does its damage.”

“Sorry, question,” Phinks raised his hand.

“No.”

“Did you plan this so Feitan, specifically, gets punched in the face?”

Snickers rose up from the troupe. Leorio looked confused and Gon leaned up to whisper in his ear. He only looked more confused, looking up and down at Feitan and Nox, and then nodded, as if it made perfect sense.

“For the  _ last _ time, yes, it’s literally obvious, you don’t have to ask. Now, to continue. There will be several targets not in the meeting, and there’s several locations in Tindin where they may be. The remaining three will take out those stragglers. It doesn’t sound important, but it is essential that we take advantage of the leaders being gathered in one place. While this is happening, Chrollo, Kortopi, Basho, and I will be on the outskirts of town to take out the leader, Alexandre Ringley.”

There was a tiny reaction from Illumi, his head lifting ever so slightly. Hisoka must have told him what circus he grew up in at one point.

“Alexandre has the kind of power to take on Chrollo by himself, and it would turn out to be a 60/40 fight in his favor,” Hisoka continued. A hush fell on the room. “We can’t let him get away. I will be inside, distracting him in the lead up to the fight so he stays away from the Tindin meeting, while Kortopi creates a maze of tents with Gallery Fake to keep him contained. Chrollo and Basho will focus on taking out the performers, who all function as bodyguards, quietly and quickly. Basho, whatever you do, do not perform your hatsu within eyesight of Junebug. She just needs to see it, with no explanation whatsoever, to steal it. I don’t know what kind of damage she can do with it. The only thing she can’t steal are stealing abilities, Nen or hatsu. So get your weapon ahead of time and don’t make another until you’re sure she’s dead. In any case, when the file drops, Chrollo and I will fight Alexandre, and Basho will get Kortopi a safe distance away to keep holding Gallery Fake in case we fail.”

“So, new question,” Phinks piped up again. “We have a Zodiac. Agreements I may or may not have made aside, why are we not using him?”

“Because Ging has the most important job,” Hisoka replied coolly. “In case all of this goes south, the one thing we cannot risk, even if we’re dead, is the bulk of the evidence being lost or destroyed. Ging needs to protect it until someone can do something with it.”

Everyone nodded in unison. They understood the importance.

A thought occurred to Nox. Hisoka was keeping Alexandre from Tindin. He could easily fight it out with him in the meeting hall.

Their lower lip wobbled.

He was keeping Alexandre away from Feitan. He hadn’t even said anything.

They wanted to slip down and go hug him, but it was mixed company at best. Feitan would be embarrassed, and then maybe even offended.

Nox waved at Hisoka and he looked up at them.

“ _ Thank you, big brother. _ ”

A tiny smile almost no one caught flickered at Hisoka’s lips and he nodded once, just once.

“Well, I think that covers it. Ging, you’re taking Gon and Kalluto now, yes?”

“In a minute. Chrollo, great taste in couches.” This was the man that rigged the Hunter elections? Really? He had pizza sauce on his face.

“I feel like I’m watching a custody trade off,” Knuckle muttered and Nox snorted.

“One more thing,” Hisoka suddenly said. Nox heard the subtle shift in his tone. He was going to get serious. “The troupe is used to this sort of thing. That’s why me and the twins agreed to letting them help, among other reasons that shall not be mentioned, mainly involving gratuitous extortion.” Chrollo coughed slightly and Nobunaga scrunched up his face uncomfortably. “But, Hunters, I need to make something clear. This isn’t the NGL, fighting one on one with a monstrous person. This isn’t a targeted bounty, or a blacklist hunt. This isn’t one man versus another. This is a massacre. What we are doing is a massacre. Disgusting, horrific human beings aside, it’s a massacre, however justified it is. You’re going to be killing a lot of people weaker than you, a lot of defenseless people. I know Ging has told you the why, why they’ve survived for three decades, why this took fifteen years. You know why it has to be done. You know why, logically, it can’t go any other way. But it’s going to be different when you’re in the thick of it. You can’t freeze up. You have to finish, or you could get your teammates killed. Or, worse, enable them to do it again. Deal with your feelings on it later, or walk out now.”

Silence fell on the room. Illumi was watching Hisoka. Nox knew what he was thinking. He was emotionless, without any visible signs of any soul, but they still knew what he was thinking. He’d probably seen Hisoka almost slip several times. He was slipping, just a little, right now. Not that it mattered, given the circumstances.

“Well, I dunno if I can handle it after,” Knuckle finally said, raspy, and Nox switched their attention to him. “But they’re kids, man. They’re kids. So I don’t think I really care. And I think that’s what everyone else is thinking, too. We’re making a deal with the devil here, but, shit. Who better than the devil to kill a buncha demons, right? If we won’t protect them, who will?”

Nox kind of wanted to cry.

They had to save themselves, and afterwards the only person to only ever even try to protect them and Nyx had been one of those kids, just like them. They had to do it themselves. No one else would do it, could do it. The three Morrows had worked so long with the understanding that  _ no one _ had protected them, no one could, and so they had to do it themselves.

But now they were in a room of people willing to protect kids like they had been. Kids like them. They did exist. They just had to be found. And they were all found.

Nox couldn’t help it. They dropped down from Franklin’s shoulder and walked right out of the room.

“Nox!” Hisoka called, but they barely heard him.

“Did I upset them?” They heard faintly, but they barely registered it as the door closed.

“No, they just have a lot of feelings sometimes,” Phinks said from behind the wood.

Nox walked until they couldn’t hear anymore. Right up the stairs to the empty library, onto the balcony, and up to the roof.

It was dark now. The stars were so clear. This was going to be their last night here. The last time they sat here with this view, breathed in this fresh air, memorized the constellations from this very point. It was ending, and it felt bittersweet.

They hadn’t wanted to be here at first. They were terrified for themselves, for Hisoka, for Nyx. They didn’t like anyone but Machi. They were trapped in a den of lions, with the security of the mission on the line, and they had to deal with it. But then something had happened. They started making real friends. Phinks in Myoto and his movies. Franklin and his quiet sense of humor that paired so well with Nox’s raunchy mischievous nature. Ky’ia and their gentle soul. Gon and all of his yelping and yelling and earnest heart. Machi and how down to earth she was, that dry wit that reminded them of Nyx helping them with their homework. Nobunaga and his big dumbass energy that hid under a serious facade for only a little while. Kortopi and his quiet scheming and glee and card tricks. Shalnark and his emotional detachment that lasted until he was finally awarded a moment to nerd out. Bono and his love of music and his tribe and boxing. Shizuku and her books and careful notes Phinks kept for her. Chrollo and his fervent, quiet, burning love for Hisoka and steely will to establish a relationship with the twins, even if that meant admitting his own shortcomings. Even if that meant admitting that he, Chrollo Lucilfer, was a coward to a sick child he considered braver than him.

If they hadn’t come here, Nyx and Nox would have never come to understand that they should live for other people as much as each other. They would have never made other friends. They would have never understood how much they needed to be separate but together. They would have never put aside sharing pain, put aside sharing Nen, put aside being Specialists to become themselves, wholly and completely.

And then there was Feitan. Feitan, who they knew was terrifying, who they knew was sadistic, who they knew was cruel. Who could hypothetically still be toying with them, waiting to shatter what little heart they had left. Feitan, simple little Feitan, who watched forging videos and made them fruit water. Feitan, who had seen them a mess, covered in blood, who had seen how they had surgically removed a man’s fingers, cauterized the wounds, demanded Feitan leave him alive, Feitan who had granted that, and Feitan who had known that what they needed in the aftermath was nothing more than a sketchbook. He knew that they needed him to see them as so much more than their worst moments, and he had given them that. Selflessly. Kindly.

Feitan, who had gently asked for their faith that he wasn’t trying to hurt them, and they had given it. And in turn asked for them to see him as more, too, and they had given him that, too. Because he was so, so much more than a wrecking ball.

And this amazing, mismatched, chaotic home they had carved out of a disaster was coming to an end.

And all of the people down there in that ballroom were giving them something more. A promise, even if they didn’t know they were giving Nox that promise. The promise that the hell they had been put through wasn’t going to happen again. The promise that in another ten years the Morrows’ story wouldn’t repeat. The promise that they could finally rest, that they wouldn’t let the kids protect themselves again. That the world wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Soft footsteps behind them. Feitan.

Below them, Ging’s truck peeled out, Kalluto and Gon packed in with the crate of hard drives between Gon’s legs. Illumi and Hisoka were standing on the front porch to watch them go. It was really happening. Six years and it was happening.

Feitan stopped next to them. They watched the headlights disappear into the trees.

“I ask you up here to dance once,” Feitan said softly.

Nox had almost forgotten.

They hadn’t danced in years, since their training ended.

A hand reached down. He had such long fingers.

“Will you say yes this time? No fighting.”

Nox laughed harshly and took his hand, let him pull them to their feet, pull them in close. There was no music, but they started to move, anyways.

There was that feeling, aching, old. This could be the last time they saw each other. Nox kept swaying in time with the waltz they had learned a century ago. They didn’t need a beat to stay in time, just each other and the wind. If they listened carefully, they could hear a crooning lullaby.

“It does not have to end here,” Feitan said softly, breath inches from their ear. He knew what they were thinking. It felt like a summer romance, doomed to end as the life they had been waiting to start for so long finally took off. They didn’t want to start fresh. They wanted to take him with, however with was meant to look for them. Because he had been there before it ended, because he had been there when it began, because they didn’t want to have to explain, because he just knew.

Because he was Feitan. Because Ri liked him. Because he wouldn’t shut up during bad movies, because he liked to sit quietly and read books while chaos was firing up all around him, because he brushed their hair, because he put tabasco on his eggs, because he cut ginger so thinly it (didn’t) change the taste of their water. Because it wasn’t just the memories. It was the faith.

Maybe it didn’t have to last forever. But it was going to last right now.

Nox’s hands slid up his chest, cupped his cheeks, and pulled him close.

His breath was shaky.

Nox leaned in and kissed him.

There were no fireworks, no feelings rising in their chest. There was just a gentle flutter of the wings of a butterfly in their stomach, a slow and steady heartbeat as it all clicked into place.

His fingers tangled in their shirt and Nox held the kiss for a second more before they finally released him, pressed a second kiss to the tip of his nose.

“ _ Bed? _ ”

“Bed,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay here we goooooo!!!
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	66. The Hack and The Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strike begins.

Ky’ia was focused. Ky’ia was very, very focused. There was so much at stake tonight. When they were dragged, stunned and nearly unconscious, out of the snow, they hadn’t realized it would turn into a journey like this. They thought they were going to die, never join their ancestors, never go home. It was the end of a very short scene, never to be met with calls of an encore. The troupe, they hadn’t even known who they were, would get what they wanted out of Ky’ia, and Ky’ia would be dead in a ditch somewhere.

And now Ky’ia had been taken on this whirlwind of a journey. One their tribe would never forget, should they ever make it home. They would go home after this, tell them they were alive and well, tell them they would stop the deforestation, promise they wouldn’t die, and go out once again in the wide, wide world.

Ky’ia had watched people save the world many times, save the children, save the country they were contracted to, save their people, save their lovers, fight for a cause. They had watched and yearned and wanted and now that they were getting started they didn’t want to stop. Not yet. Not yet. One day, but not today.

One adventure always gave birth to another, and another, and another. Ky’ia was content to walk those adventures with Nyx. Hopefully the next one wouldn’t take six years. Hopefully Nyx would want to go save their tribe with them.

“It’s time,” Shalnark said, breaking Ky’ia from their thoughts. “Ky’ia, are you ready?”

Ky’ia nodded and took a deep breath. Feanor was right across from the cafe they were sitting at. In the time since the law firm, Ky’ia had learned that Neverland worked better when they expanded their En. Their threads found people irregardless, but they were able to intensify it. They had pushed their En to its limits over the past few weeks. It was almost on par with Chrollo’s since he had so helpfully given them “tips and tricks”. (He’d trained them. It was definitely training.) After he had made it so very clear he wasn’t going to be teaching anyone anything, ever. It was rather sweet of him.

“Nyx is starting. Let’s move,” Shalnark said and stood. Palm and Ky’ia stood with him, and as they walked towards the entrance, Neverland spread its threads. The secretaries, the night guards, the techs working late, the janitors.

No one noticed as they walked in, strolled into the elevator. Not a glance was spared in their direction. Not even the elevator was registered as moving.

“It’s so strange,” Palm said quietly. “I have a friend who has the same effects at you, but such different methods.”

“Oh? What does he do?” Ky’ia asked conversationally.

“People simply don’t notice his presence. He doesn’t exist to other people.”

“Strange. I just take over people’s senses,” Ky’ia explained. “Sometimes up to their sixth. I can suggest that someone ignore me, if they start to notice something is off about the illusion, but that’s it. I didn’t think to rely on ignoring me entirely.”

“Your ability is more effective with a group. I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Palm said kindly.

“Well, thank you.” Ky’ia liked compliments. They had just about killed themselves with perfecting this hatsu over the past month. They had practiced in their room at night, barely gotten a few hours of sleep before they got up and trained again. It had been draining, but worth it. After all, they were on a schedule. A little recognition was nice.

They knew what this hatsu could do. They knew how they could very easily kill someone and they wouldn’t even notice until Neverland dropped. They knew how they could torture someone, convince them they were on fire over and over again, slice open their stomach and have them watch their innards spill out without so much as a poke. You didn’t make this hatsu in the vicinity of the troupe without multiple members pointing it out gleefully. It was all about how they used it.

It was a risk to create. It made them untouchable, but the problem with being untouchable was that it was more difficult to imagine a scenario where you could be touched and prepare accordingly. Because those scenarios would always, always happen.

The elevator doors dinged open. They had the first lock to pass.

“Have you found the man in the camera room yet?” Shalnark asked and Ky’ia focused, stretched out even further. They had been trained in spirit since the age of ten. They needed to remember that they had been doing this for eight years, that they were practically a seasoned veteran, with every inch the potential as the twins. They’d been doing this just as long as them, no, even longer. New hatsu or not, Ky’ia had every inch of power as the twins, and every inch of power as the troupe. Well, close to it. Maybe. They could do this. They could be just as vital.

“Found him.” Ky’ia placed a mental marker for leaving. So long as they could keep his eyes clouded, they could get out easily.

The door clicked open. Ky’ia stressed the need to ignore the flicker as Nyx took over the cameras. He noticed and paid it no mind.

The three slipped in. Two more doors and they would be that much closer to their goals.

  
  


The second door fell to Shalnark, and then the third, and Ky’ia felt an extreme sense of deja vu. It was like their very first mission and it was a bit dizzying to look at the walls of towers, blinking with lights Ky’ia didn’t understand as Shalnark plugged in.

“It’ll be about ten minutes,” Shalnark said. “And then another ten for the upload, if these servers are any decent. Just sit tight.”

Ky’ia slid down against the wall, widened their En just in case, and waited. It was all about getting Shalnark in, supporting him without causing a scene so close to launch. They’d protect him as best as they could so he could focus on his task. It was strange. Feitan and Hisoka had the most important parts to ensure that the ring would stay dead, but this little three person team had the most important job to ensure that it all worked, to give their friends the best chance of survival. It was weird to be entrusted with so much responsibility.

“How did it happen, you getting mixed up?” Palm asked quietly. Her hair had formed into a stool for her to sit and watch Shalnark work, cross legged on the floor with his laptop balanced on his knees, hard drive connected with a cord.

“Well. I guess we have twenty minutes to spare,” Ky’ia reasoned. “It’s a long story, but Kalluto and Phinks kidnapped me to pull secrets out of Hisoka’s head. Chrollo had been hired to kill the twins by Edwin, the main money man, so the ring wouldn’t have to scatter. They weren’t seen as a major threat at the time. Hisoka intervened and the twins got away, but Hisoka refused to talk and Chrollo reasoned that traditional means would be pointless, given his… proclivities, I’m not sure if you met him before. So they brought me in, stole me away from the mountain, and I ended up just staying. I still don’t know why Chrollo initially spared me. I think Hisoka has changed his perspective drastically.”

“The Ji’Tak, right? Morel likes your people. I think he had a run in, when he was young.”

“He did? They must have liked him a lot. Our Inquisitors run off most outsiders.”

“Morel is someone many people enjoy spending time with.”

“I’ve noticed. He got along with the troupe almost immediately.”

“He told me you told them about a legendary pirate. You probably helped a little,” Palm teased gently, and Ky’ia laughed.

“I have seen that no matter how different some people may be, a story about outlaws in love always is something everyone will always enjoy. Pirates are always a bonus. Who doesn’t love a swashbuckling gay pirate fallen to the mercy of love at first sight?”

“You seem to understand people very well. Do you think we’ll manage it?”

Palm was nervous, Ky’ia realized. She hid it extremely well, and her Nen was difficult to read, given that she wasn’t human. But she was nervous. Ky’ia wasn’t all that concerned. They knew in their heart that this would work, because they had seen the power in this story.

“I think,” Ky’ia said carefully, “the Morrows have had a consistent series of nothing but knocks through this past decade. I think they had failed a lot, always got so close to total destruction and danced away. I think they know it, too, that it has essentially been one massive failure piling up to this moment. But I think that because of that, because they kept getting back up over and over again, because they kept telling the world no, they weren’t done yet, fate has finally smiled on them with this team, with this group of people that can make the end finally happen. So, yes, I think we can manage it. Twenty four people is more than enough to rattle the world, I believe. You shouldn’t worry. Careful planning and execution and the right people to do it can make a lot of impossible things happen.”

Shalnark was listening. They knew he was listening. He was also worried, nervous, which was an odd thing to see on someone so distantly cheerful and eternally polite.

All of this was an odd thing to see. People who had not a single care in the world feeling like they should care, should worry, feeling like they had a stake. The stake was the bonds they had formed and strengthened over the past month, of course. But the stake was also the children they’d never met. They had spent the last month watching what happens when they have a chance to survive, but not a chance to see the ring fall, and despite the care that had developed, none of them wanted that to be repeated. They all, collectively, wanted to give the kids a chance, and had the circumstances not been so twisted and disgusting and dire, Ky’ia would find it heartwarming. Not a word had been breathed of theft tonight in weeks. At some point, they had all forgotten. It left Ky’ia wanting to hug each one.

“Have you seen things like this before?” Palm asked, breaking their reflections.

“A few times, yes,” Ky’ia agreed. “There was … Well, something in common. Spirit, soul, heart, resolve, something, they all had in common. I couldn’t put a finger on it. But they always won.”

Tonight would go perfectly. They knew it.

Silence fell for a few more moments. Palm and Ky’ia just watched Shalnark work as Ky’ia spun the phone around in their hands. They could die tonight, hypothetically, without having even kissed Nyx goodbye. It didn’t feel like they needed to kiss, really. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a promise to live to get that last first kiss. It could happen a few months from now. It could happen tomorrow. Some would say they were moving at a snail’s pace, but there was no real rush to them. They just wanted to trundle along, hand in hand, not worry about firsts or seconds or this or that. Nox and Feitan were in a controlled rush with each other, something that suited them both. Despite Nyx’s thoughts on it and Hisoka’s beliefs, Ky’ia knew they were going to last. They had the lasting quality of a burning star. They would be fine.

Perhaps they should have kissed Nyx. It hadn’t occurred to them, and they didn’t think it had occurred to Nyx. Nox would laugh at them when someone admitted it. On the eve of a battle that would shape the world for years to come, they hadn’t even thought to take the leap. That was fine by Ky’ia. It would have felt like they had to, like it was when they should do it, instead of when they felt like they wanted to do it. Nyx wasn’t a romantic. Ky’ia was a cautious one.

It would be there when it was there. As it was, Ky’ia didn’t feel like they needed to. They were perfect together, just as themselves, in their mind, and didn’t need a mind blowing first kiss to prove it.

They almost wanted to text them, but the only thing that held them back was the fear that they’d distract them. Nyx already knew Ky’ia loved them. They’d rather say it in person, one day in the near future.

This had been a roller coaster of an adventure, but Ky’ia was glad it was coming to a close. Now Nyx could pick an adventure they wanted, not one life and trauma had shoved onto them. There were always going to be new adventures, new places to explore and new things to see. In the aftermath, Ky’ia would happily explore all of them.

They were writing a story to remember. This was the beginning, not the end. They were on their way.

“I’m finished!” Shalnark announced just as his and Palm’s phones buzzed. Ky’ia stood, a happy, quiet, complacent resolve in their heart.

It was time to start the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: themorrowfam


	67. The Ninjas and The Crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Morel takes on York New.

Nox was back on Franklin’s shoulder. The York New strike team was assembled on a roof. It was dark out, nine o’clock. They should be launching in the next ten to twenty minutes.

Another breath in, another breath out. Forty seven now. Their murder was all over the rooftop, all over Franklin, picking at Bonolenov’s shoelaces and inspecting Morel rather intently. Taz had overtaken his shoulder.

This was a massive operation. York New was huge, and they wouldn’t have the luxury of keeping half, or even a quarter with them for protection.

At his base level, Ri was essentially useless in power levels. Out of their birds, he possessed the highest intelligence levels and could give directions himself without Nox needing to do it themselves. He functioned as a second in command. He was going to be a bit useless tonight, until birds started dying, because they were conjuring everyone. Even Axis. Axis as himself, perhaps with Angel, could do the bodyguard work while the rest of the murder focused on the carnage. On his own there was too much damage. They didn’t want to actually break the city. He needed to be kept close.

Another breath in, another breath out, and now they were at forty eight. To their right, Morel was still puffing on his pipe, gathering his ninjas. Nox rather liked his hatsu. He wasn’t exactly a Conjurer, but with the combination of transmutation and manipulation gave him an edge in determining his type. They still couldn’t figure out what his actual type was.

They took another sip of their boba, chewed on the pearls, drummed their heels on Franklin’s chest.

Chloe. Forty nine.

They didn’t want to have to rely on stolen Nen, but they may not have a choice. This was a lot of birds at once, and if they got into physical combat they would have to have them. They were already feeling how low their Nen was. It was nothing to sneeze at, of course. But there were a lot of people you shouldn’t sneeze at. Nox couldn’t fight them all without an edge.

“Are you nervous?” Morel asked lowly. Nox kept drumming their heels on Franklin’s chest, handed their cup down to him so they could sign.

“ _ Not for me. _ ” No, they weren’t worrying about themselves right now. They were more concerned with Hisoka and Nyx. Feitan, despite having the second highest danger level, would be fine.

Nox had a bit of an easy job, objectively. Few Nen users, mostly the highest grunt concentration.

Franklin stole a sip of boba and Nox kicked him a bit harder. Ri croaked and they reached up to gently pat his beak. He sprang over to nestle down on Franklin’s head.

“Nox,” Bonolenov said. Uno was sitting on him. With the fifty purple troopers and fifty birds, they were running out of space. “Do you want Jupiter?”

“ _ I want you to crush the pedophiles, not the city, so no. _ ”

They had enough Nen flowing back into them. A long exhale, a longer inhale, and then another exhale. Their power surged dramatically, overpowering the conversation for the moment as Morel finished the translation, and then there was one little crow.

Axis was smaller than the rest of their birds. Cocky, self assured, strutting about to peck at Uno so he could take over the spot on Bono’s shoulder.

_ Don’t be fucking rude. _

Axis gave them an indignant caw and Nox sighed.

“Is he your heavy one?” Bono asked and Nox tossed him the bag of treats. All the birds perked up. They needed to like him.

“ _ Yes. And how high can you get your frequencies? _ ”

“Very high, why?” He held the bag out of reach from Axis’s greedy beak and Nox clucked a warning at the bird. He was with company. The crow cawed indignantly and settled to receive treats.

They were all so badly behaved. It was lucky Bono was used to kids.

“ _ Can you get to 200 decibels? _ ”

“Hypothetically.”

For once, Nox had actually picked up a science fact from Nyx.

“ _ The human capacity for soundwaves caps at about 158 decibels. 200 and above is a guaranteed death. You may need to focus on spinning very, very fast, but if need be I can sacrifice crows to protect you while you build up. _ ”

“I have a very large range, Nox.”

“ _ That’s why we picked the park. _ ”

Morel’s phone pinged. Nox sat up a little straighter as he opened the notification.

“It’s time,” he said and Nox stepped down onto Franklin’s large hand, then down to the roof. Their crows rose into the sky, starting to circulate.

Nothing was said. Bono and Franklin took off in their respective directions, Bono to wait at the park, Franklin to wait near the square. Morel and Nox exchanged glances.

“Ready?”

Nox just let the murder take flight, scattering towards their five targets. The hotel, the mansion, the brothel, the second mansion, and the massage parlor. The ninjas took off in the opposite direction and Morel hefted his pipe onto his shoulder.

“Got a message from Hisoka, by the way. He said to tell you to not overdo it.”

Nox let a smirk twitch at their lips.

“ _ But that’s when I do my best work. _ ”

And, with that, they dropped. The ground rushed up and they landed in a crouch before straightening. The empty cup was dropped in a trash can, littering was a sin, and they slipped up their mask. Morel landed next to them, Ri settled on their shoulder, and Angel, Chloe, and Axis circled high over their head.

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with ya. Even if Hisoka tries to kill me after.” Morel offered a hand, and Nox shook it.

And then they split.

Gin and Rum watched the square and park. They could already feel the blood start to course in, add itself to the aura, beat in time with their heart. Nox strolled down the sidewalk, hands in their pockets. There were eighteen Nen users for them to worry about. A block away, they could already hear the screams and chaos. The brothel.

Their birds knew to leave those uninvolved alone. Gin and Rum were watching the slaughterhouses for two reasons: one, so Nox saw if there were any problems, two, because Nox didn’t want to accidentally peek and see something that would make them throw the whole mission. This city was too big for them to go on a rampage. They had to be controlled.

They could feel what their birds were feeling. The hotel and massage parlor had a sense of glee and satisfaction at a job well done. From the excess of Nen, they knew that there were no survivors in the parlor, and the hotel was successfully run out. The parlor birds were helping the herding efforts. It needed to be timed perfectly.

The mansion was giving them difficulties. Four of their eighteen Nen users were there. The second mansion had an additional five. Morel had the other nine. Their birds were barely dodging their attacks as the rest of the staff evacuated right into the rest of the murder. Nox was about two minutes away if they ran. They hated their birds dying.

A presence was in the alley and a man stepped out in the split second Nox recognized it. Tall, muscular, bald, an open phone in his hand. A Hunter. So Hisoka had guessed right.

He had the locations pulled up. Nyx had included them. The few Hunters in the ring wouldn’t be able to do anything about it once it started. This one was fast to react. That was good. He knew how to scan for the most pertinent information and make a move.

“Those your birds?” He asked, and Nox nodded once. “So you’re part of this. I’m Hanzo. Mind if I tag along?”

Nox nodded and pulled out their phone.

**Nox. I can’t talk. Hope that doesn’t bother you. We’re going to the mansion.**

He looked like a ninja. Nox was surrounded by a lot of ninjas lately.

“That’s fine. Let’s go.”

Ri released in preparation and Nox tensed before bolting. The two ran side by side down the streets as the birds continued their herding, leading people in a confusing and terrifying maze until they were too worn out to run from Bono’s attack.

Hanzo and Nox vaulted onto a rooftop as more doors slammed, more Hunters came out. Gin could see men and several  _ very _ pissed women already heading to the second mansion in a murderous rampage. Good. Even more were recognizing the herding efforts, recognizing how their birds were terrorizing people, and were jumping into the chaos to lend the unseen Nox a hand. Hopefully they would heed the warning to stay a safe distance away from the park.

Jelly died and Nox swallowed down the rage. They knew their birds were going to die. They’d be back. It still pissed them off. At the very least the Nen from her sustained Nox a little more. Ri reacted to Nox, told Angel to go ahead, and she whistled past to smash through a window and send glass flying as Hanzo and Nox vaulted over the wall. The door was ajar, and angry caws met Nox as they slid into the foyer, Ri soaring down to land, make sure they were grounded before they jumped into the fray.

Axis swooped in before the four harried men had a chance to realize there were fresh opponents, and one exploded in a pool of blood. Nox shuddered as it filled them up. Decent Nen. Not decent enough for Axis, but decent.

A man pointed a long, flaming sword at Nox. Yuri Bensho. Ugly as sin. He conjured a flaming sword and a flaming chain. Uninspired.

“Are these fucking birds yours?”

Nox just grinned under their mask and flicked out their blades as Ri took flight. Their four remaining birds and three new ones circled overhead like feathery sharks, waiting to strike, hiding their strength in the line of Nen. Hanzo unsheathed his blade and the two, in the heat of combat, found unspoken kindredship as they charged.

Nox kicked up the table and Hanzo rammed his shoulder into it to send it crashing into Jin, the Manipulator of knives, how boring, into the wall. Uno swept down to cave a hole in his chest before he could get up, and the numbers were whittled to two on two.

Hanzo sped for Yuri, intensely fast, and sparks flew across the room as they fought across the entrance hall with lightning speed. Nox was left with King, the deadly Enhancer who only got more powerful with each cut. That wouldn’t be a problem if Nox relieved him of his head.

“Come on then, little bird,” he mocked and Nox charged. He blocked with his two knives and they danced across the hall, knives clashing with every move. Nox deliberately held back from cutting him, breaking his defense, instead focused on memorizing his style, his step, his repetitive errors. A man who supercharged his Nen the more he bled was not a man who was too concerned at blocking nonfatal injuries, but it inherently made him a sloppy and cocky fighter. Nox was not a sloppy fighter. They were a precise fighter, who rarely ever made mistakes, used their environment just as much as their body to win.

They let him drive them back to the curtains. He lunged, they sidestepped, dropped one knife as his own cut into the fabric, and jerked the curtain up and around to ensnare his hand. Nox yanked, bringing it down before he could cut it loose, and as he was set off balance they wrapped it once, twice around his throat, and  _ yanked _ with a burst of Shu.

Snap.

King dropped in a lump just as a flaming sword went flying across the room and a sickening crunch filled the silence moments after someone’s death. Nox turned. Hanzo had his short sword buried to the hilt in Yuri’s chest.

It felt a little anticlimactic. They picked up their knives and sheathed them as Hanzo turned. New Nen presences were approaching. They were a little late. Maybe Morel was having better results.

“Your birds are herding people.” Nox nodded. “Where?”

**The park. You don’t want to be there. It’s going to be very loud.**

Three men and two women pushed open the bloody door.

“Hanzo?”

“Hey, Jules. You’re late. Missed all the fun,” Hanzo said casually. “This is my new friend Nox.”

Nox waved, sent a text to Morel.

**I’m about finished. Need help?**

**No, all good over here. About six friends showed up.**

**Aw … I only made one new friend.**

**I had some unexpected Nen users. About four extra. So the help was welcome.**

Ri landed on their shoulder and they gave him a treat, tossed up a handful for the rest to swoop and catch them.

“Where are your crows herding people?” Jules asked, and Nox tapped out a reply. “Hey I’m talking to --- Oh.”

**Bonolenov Ndongo has a show for them in the park.**

“Er… Do you not talk or?”

**Nope.**

“Wait. The Spider?” The tall woman spoke up. Blonde and leggy. If not for Feitan … They needed to not go there. Nox nodded. Her eyes narrowed.

“Are  _ you _ a Spider?” Nox shook their head no.

**They just offered us some help about a month ago when they found out Meteor City was a supply zone. Helped us finish up. Ging Freecs brought in everyone else. Annnddd show started.**

They rolled their eyes back in their sockets to fully watch as Franklin launched his attack, mowing down people in the square in a cataclysm of blood. Bono spun and spun and spun as their murder watched from a safe distance, leaving people screaming as their lungs burst, coughing up blood on the grass. It was over in maybe a minute. York New was finished. The efficient planning had turned a battle that could have lasted hours into a bare thirty, maybe forty minutes. Hisoka would be smug.

It felt a little anticlimactic. Something that had consumed their entire teen years, over in forty minutes. But perhaps Nox was just in shock that it was really, finally over.

“Well, we have literally nothing to do here. Also, kid. You aren’t a Hunter, are you?”

**Not yet. Too busy. And you do have stuff to do. There’s approximately fifty kids in this city that need transportation to the medical tents that are getting set up right now. Chop chop.**

There was a creak on the stairs and everyone looked up.

Thunderbolt, right in their chest.

Nox didn’t feel like it was anticlimactic anymore. Because right there was a scared kid, gangly limbs and a trembling lip, looking around at the mess, dressed in a revealing nightgown and little else, with eyes Nox knew so, so well. They were the eyes they saw in the mirror.

Hanzo approached her, held out a hand.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t look, okay? Look at me.”

Big brown eyes welling with confused tears fixed on Hanzo and he crouched in front of her.

“My name’s Hanzo. I’m a Hunter. What’s your name?”

“Justice,” she said quietly, and Nox felt their heart grow heavy and light all at the same time.

“That’s a nice name.”

The five people behind Nox were staring at the evidence. Nox was staring at themselves.

“Thank … thank you … Why are you here?” Why is this happening. Why am I so scared to hope. Nox knew how that felt. They felt it when a tall jester picked his way through the wreckage six years ago. Hope was terrifying.

“Because we’re gonna take you to some doctors, and then we’re gonna take you home. Are there any other kids here?”

“Upstairs,” she replied softly. “They were scared.”

“Then you’ve gotta be really brave. There’s some scary stuff going on tonight. Can you take us to your friends?”

Nox felt the tears start to well up as she took Hanzo’s hand, led him up the stairs, and the shock broke.

They didn’t have to protect them anymore. The world was going to do what it was supposed to. They didn’t have to protect them anymore, and they could finally rest because they knew they were going to be okay.

A few tears slipped out, right in front of these strangers. That was fine, because Jules was fighting back tears, too.

The kids were alright.

A text from Shalnark lit up their phone.

**Ky’ia wants everyone to meet for boba since only you got some and they are upset. Coming?**

Nox laughed, wiped at their eyes, ignored the stares, and punched out their reply.

**Tell everyone to wait till after cleanup. I still have Gin and Rum scouting for stragglers.**

**Of course. I’ll let them know!**

Nox had felt so alone for such a long time because they felt like it could only be them being the protector, only them and their family, and it had been so very isolating. An impossible burden for them to bear, because they shouldn’t have needed protection in the first place. It shouldn’t have happened. But the second the info drop happened, people had stormed the streets, ready to kill, ready to crash through and burn it all to the ground in a fiery cataclysm. People who were willing to protect kids just like them. And suddenly they felt a little less alone, a little less betrayed, a little less abandoned.

“You said there was a tent?” Jules prompted and Nox nodded.

**Outside the hospital. Ging bought out hotels in a bunch of cities to hold the kids until we can get family reunification going.**

Hanzo reappeared at the top of the stairs with three closely clustered kids.

“Uh … Can someone get a car?”

Nox coughed out another laugh. It was over. It was really over. There was a lot of work to be done in the aftermath, but they didn’t have to carry it all anymore. They could finally rest.

They were so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: themorrowfam


	68. The Spider and The Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team takes on Gorten and the mafia.

Machi was stretched to her limit. For this mission, she had crafted a new hatsu. It was a risk, but actually running through an entire city to string her threads was a far larger risk.

The problem was that she was defenseless, short of Knov, who was stretched to his limit himself.

Sweat was beading at her neck as she watched the fight far below. Nobunaga and Bisky were faring well, with Illumi’s help. Zombie mafiosos were holding back the worst of their opponents piling on. Illumi was too fast to catch as he zipped here and there, out of reach of the fifteen Nen users beset upon by some of the most notorious criminals in history, sans Bisky.

The Spider Maze was holding. That was what mattered right now. In front of her was a map of Gorten, a spool of thread set in the center. Streets and alleys were glowing with Nen where her threads were tangling up mafiosos trying to run. Her aura had somehow managed to stretch across a city. She should feel unimaginably powerful right now, but instead she just felt tired. She couldn’t move from this spot. That was the problem. If she moved more than ten feet from the map, if the map itself moved, the maze would be broken, and she did not have the capabilities right now to set it up again. It took an unbelievable amount of power, power she was just growing into.

It was funny to think she still needed to grow, that there was a wall that actually existed that she could break through.

“Are you doing alright?” Knov asked quietly. He was looking exhausted. His hotel was being pushed to the limit now. He had had a mere four hours to set twenty traps, and his Nen was still maintaining those traps. The two of them arguably had the most important jobs.

“Are you?” Machi countered as a bead of sweat splashed down on the map.

“I can still keep the Maze up if you can,” Knov replied stiffly. Machi’s fingers flexed on the threads, pulled to keep someone from escaping. In the distance, a man was yanked from a rooftop and sent hurtling to the ground. Machi shuddered. She could almost understand stealing Nen right now.

One of the Nen users was starting to pinpoint the two of them, recognize their importance. Machi watched as she refrained from the fight, stared at the two of them on the roof.

“That one is coming,” Machi said quietly. None of the Hunters had shown up yet. There was some fighting, far away from the square, but the team was on their own still, an hour into the battle. They were being held up.

“I can handle it.” Knov did not look like he could handle it. The two weren’t fresh like the rest of their team. They had been pouring out Nen for hours now. And the woman far below was fresh. She had been doing nothing but evade blows for the past ten minutes, let the others get mowed down in their attacks as she read the situation, determined the highest threats.

Machi tightened her threads.

“She can’t wreck this roof. The Maze will fall,” she warned.

“I  _ do _ have other capabilities,” Knov replied, wiped at the sweat soaking white hair. “I can keep the damage to a minimum.”

The woman moved, rushing with a running start, used the chaos of zombies as a springboard to launch herself into the sky. Illumi recognized where she was going, lashed out to reach her, but she was already out of range as she soared towards the two.

Knov took one step back, two, and Machi’s heart dropped in the split second before the woman lashed out.

A band of black appeared between Knov’s hands and she pulled back, danced out of range as the black energy cut the weather vane in half. A second hatsu that was going to drain Knov at the rate the two were going. Machi yanked her threads in, expended precious Nen to let her threads worm together to form a cocoon. It wouldn’t hold beyond a few hits, but it would buy her time. She couldn’t see, but there was a grunt of pain from Knov, the sound of a hit landing, light feet dancing on the brick, whooshes and blocked kicks. A pity.

It was starting to hurt, the pulling on her fingers. They had already been cut. The cocoon shuddered with a devastating blow and another bead of sweat dripped onto the paper.

“Get away from her.” Knov was panting. This was all about to collapse. It was going to collapse.

“You’re completely drained, and in no position to make demands, hot stuff,” the woman taunted.

“If you kill me, I assure you, I am pissed enough that those men will  _ never _ be seen again.”

“Then I’ll just have to restrain you, hm?”

This wasn’t the time for banter. There was the sound of more feet running along the rooftops and something whisked right over her. No, not something. Someone. Machi huddled down more, pulled her threads tighter. She needed to hold it. She needed to keep the web up. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it.

“Liar!” Someone screamed and something very similar to a blade whistled through the air. Machi’s heart stopped in her chest.

He sounded like Gon. Whoever was out there was a child. He was going to get killed.

“Conrad! Nice to join us. Weren’t you busy hanging out with that Hunter of yours?” The woman asked and more wind whistled. Machi felt a little useless. All this power pouring out of her, and yet she herself had set these conditions.

The greater the sacrifice.

She had never cared to sacrifice before. It was a silly way to gain power, and yet here she was, ready to die to hold it, and for what? Children? Children died every day.

They weren’t born to die like this. That wasn’t what children were for.

“You’re all  _ liars! _ ”

“And look at you, defending a Spider. Do you know who’s in that cocoon?”

_ “I don’t care!” _

“Machi, Machi we need to go.” Knov had gotten close to shake the cocoon. The voices faded as the fight moved to a new rooftop and Machi’s resolve hardened.

“Is it a kid?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m staying right here.” A kid was putting his life on the line, even if he didn’t fully understand what for. She wasn’t going to let that effort be in vain. “Go help the kid. I can take a few hits before you get back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t question me,” Machi hissed. The threads around the city were starting to fade. She was about to pop. She needed to hold out until the fighting stopped. This fort was hers, and she was locking it down.

“I’ll be back if anything goes wrong,” Knov promised and with that he was gone.

Sitting like this was terrifying. There were so many Nen presences, all overwhelming and powerful, overriding her close range En. She had no idea if someone was coming, not until they were right on top of her.

She had to trust Knov. It was a novel experience, trusting someone with her life. She had never really done it before. Not even Chrollo was awarded that faith. But she had no choice. There was too much at stake. The muscle had to be put down so any survivors had no bodyguards to fall back on. It was the latent period of the ring. They were almost all here, without any leadership to direct them. They were fish in a barrel, even if they were piranhas.

She had to last. Her fort, her rules. And her rule right now was to hold out, past her limits, to expand them beyond anything she could ever imagine. She had to make it through, even if sweat was beading her brow.

A drop of blood on her paper. It shimmered in the dim light and she realized she had joined the Feitan train of nosebleeds from stress. Amazing. She was hurting herself with this hatsu, and yet somehow that only made her more powerful.

The shouts and clangs of a new weapon circled back around and she buried her face into her arms, shook with the strain. The bell tower clanged overhead. One hour, more or less, into hell. This was hell. The stress of her Nen pushed to its limits was seeping into her muscles now, making her body scream in pain.

She had to persevere. Then she could rest. One last mission for Chrollo before he left them in pursuit of a fiery redhead. One last mission. The Spider would fall after this, finally brought to its knees with compassion, and she was determined to see it to the end. A glorious end. The heist of a century, stealing money, blood, sweat, and tears, stealing children to return to their homes, and they had done it. They had made it all for nothing.

This was a victory, even if her body was aching and her mind was screaming in pain and she was a complete noncombatant. Her fortress, and she was going to light the match and bring it down.

Machi shuddered as a spasm wracked her body. An entire city, population of about one million, and she had trapped it in her grasp. It was agony.

“Machi, I---” The sound of a fist hitting flesh cut Knov off and he smashed into her cocoon. It was too much. The threads dissolved and they crashed to the ground in a yelp of pain. The wall facing the square had caved in with the aftershock. The building was going to come down.

The map was still up.

_ “Buy me time,” _ Machi shouted as she assumed her position again. The entire bottom of her face and neck were coated in blood now. The building may come down, but she was winning.

Knov vaulted over her and she finally caught a glimpse of the boy. Crooked button nose, big green eyes, blonde hair, freckles. Sixteen, maybe fifteen. A child, wielding a long lance he handled with expert precision as he rotated it around into a fighting stance. He liked to keep his opponents at a distance. There was blood dripping from the blade at the end and a shallow cut across the woman’s midsection.

“You’re having a temper fit, Conrad,” she said coolly. “You need to calm down. I don’t want to hurt you.”

_ “Hurt me?” _ He was oozing betrayal. He wanted to cry, she could see. “Look at what you’ve done to me!”

“I never laid a hand on you, and neither did anyone else,” she said passively.

“What about Hiro? What about him?” Conrad demanded. She blinked.

“Who?”

Conrad screamed and launched his assault. The lance danced through the air, jabbing left, right, up, down, whipping in and snapping back before she could grab the smooth wood. He was good, but he was too angry, far too angry.

Knov couldn’t get in as the woman ducked and dodged, blocking where she could with a curved scimitar. She clearly was trying to get past him, get to Machi, but Conrad was not having it. He could see her efforts to herd, and he denied her advances. It was a fast, furious battle. Deadly. She nearly died three times. And then she knocked the lance, finally, and in less than an instant a javelin appeared in his hand and he spun to fling it. She ducked and a scythe appeared in his hand. Sensing danger, the woman dropped to one knee and punched down, slamming her fist into the roof.

The building trembled and she flipped back, safe, to another roof, out of harm’s way. Machi saw the disaster impending and summoned all the Nen she possessed. Springing to her feet, the map a lost cause, she grabbed Knov and pulled him close. Thin threads materialized, wrapped them up as the building began to crash down. Through a few silken threads, she saw the kid.

The kid.

Machi reached out of the threads closing in and threads wrapped around him. One powerful swing of her arm sent him soaring free of rubble that could crush him to pieces. He crashed into the cobblestone far below and then the world was a blur of pink as Machi and Knov went down.

  
  
  
  


Illumi wouldn’t say he was hurt. He wasn’t hurt. If Hisoka thought it was important to hide the fact that he had siblings, perhaps even children, from Illumi, that was fine. If Hisoka’s entire persona and the person he knew was a complete lie and fabrication of the highest degree, that was fine. If their friendship had never even really been real,  _ that was fine. _

Hisoka seemed to think it was. But it was fine for Hisoka. He was in on the secret. And, sure, he had evidently been around Illumi enough and trusted Illumi enough to slip. He had subconsciously wanted to tell him everything, Illumi knew.

Illumi also knew Hisoka had been in Jun the day the attack happened. He knew because he was with him one minute, and then he got a text and he was gone. Illumi had never cared to ask. If Hisoka had a job with some unknown entity to rip apart a sex festival, that was fine. But after meeting the twins, he got the impression that something had gone wrong.

He wasn’t hurt. Something like that required support, and while Illumi wasn’t exactly the best at it, wasn’t he enough?

He wasn’t hurt.

It wasn’t like he ever harbored feelings for Hisoka, not romantically towards the end. Maybe at the start, but they faded with the lies that grew and grew and grew. But, even so. They were friends. It was just that Illumi didn’t have many friends. That’s why he cautioned Killua against them. Because when you did have them, they were people like not-Hisoka. Or, even worse, they were Hisoka who could hurt you, because they played you and played you and played you and never told you the truth.

He was hurt. He was hurt because Hisoka  _ was right. _ If he stood in the way with this crusade, Illumi would kill. Him and the twins, and the twins were just more important, and rightfully so.

They came running back to Hisoka.

All this time and he could have been learning why.

Illumi let another handful of needles fly as more reinforcements arrived to the brawl. This normally was not his style. He had even had to pull back his hair. The things he did for this man. Hisoka used to be at his beck and call, and now Illumi was, running to him, if only to resolve the mounting … were these feelings?

Was this his first betrayal? Hadn’t this betrayal started long, long ago? He had always known. But it felt more real now.

Why was he not mad?

Because he couldn’t be. Because he had, in part, done this to himself. Because he had never really showed the slightest shred of care, a willingness to put Hisoka’s needs even slightly higher, even a show of respect for Hisoka at all. How could Hisoka trust him with something so precious? Illumi had never once given him a reason, and while he normally would not care, the reason that it hurt was that he knew now that he  _ would. _ So long as they weren’t actively attacking the Zoldycks, they could ruin any contract they liked, and he was sure when Silva found the reason he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. After all, even Zoldycks had limits. Training in sexual operations was separate and optional, after all, and only when you turned eighteen. And never with a family member.

There were Rules.

Father knew the reason now. He had his Hunter’s license, after all. And he knew Illumi had a contract in Gorten. He was probably watching somehow.

Illumi had done this to himself and it was infuriating. A needle went in a little too viciously and he sidestepped a spray of blood from Nobunaga’s sword. Assassins should never have bloody clothes, but it was becoming a little hard to avoid.

“Yo, Illumi, are you even with us?” Nobunaga roared and Illumi blinked, caught a man by the forehead, and quietly whispered fuck it in his mind before he clamped down. Brain matter splattered all over the cobblestone and the corpse dropped.

“I am always present, yes.”

“Then what are you going to do about that?” Nobunaga roared and pointed upwards to the mess going on on the rooftop.

Illumi had tried to do something about that, excuse him. But his contract involved supporting Nobunaga and Bisky, not Machi and Knov. He had prioritized.

It was at that moment that everything went very wrong.

Illumi’s dolls turned on him. They had never done that. He neatly avoided a blow and skipped back, out of range. The first thought was highjacker. Someone had put a pin on him. He needed to find the point immediately and dispatch it. The second thought was the needles needed to come out, and immediately. Someone couldn’t be in control of the dolls. They would swamp Nobunaga and Bisky, and they had their hands full. If he pulled out the needles, they would drop dead.

He had planted a lot of needles. Where was the highjacker?

You couldn’t take over a person already being manipulated. That wasn’t how it worked. But you could take over the source, and only if your hatsu was specifically designed to do so. The reason Shalnark’s autopilot worked was because he was both the manipulated and the manipulator. It was foolproof. Illumi took a deep breath, so quiet no one could hear, and focused. There was foreign Nen. He just needed to find it in the midst of avoiding his own dolls.

A bother. This was a bother. Illumi swung around, and three needles were tucked back away as the corpses fell to the ground, vomited up blood, frothed at the mouth, and went into rigor mortis almost immediately as they died. Where was the mark? What was it? He couldn’t feel it.

He couldn’t focus on that. He was here to do a job, and that was to protect Bisky and Nobunaga. The Bisky in question had just been tossed through an entire building and was about to be swarmed by dolls.

Illumi leapt forward. Veins cracked open and bulged out as heads were taken from shoulders and hearts were ripped from chests. The man who had just thrown Bisky by her hair advanced on him and something cracked behind Bisky. A rumbling roar came from inside the decimated building and out stepped Bisky, fully transformed and unbelievably pissed.

“I won’t forgive you,” she said softly as the man balked at the massive woman in front of him. Why she hid herself, Illumi didn’t know. He could appreciate the subterfuge, but she was rather pleasing to look at.

It was no matter. She could handle it, now that she was fully transformed. Illumi skidded back and focused back on his task: dismantling every doll before they overwhelmed Nobunaga, who was struggling to keep up with his opponent’s morningstar mace.

Why couldn’t they have Nox? Illumi was struggling. He  _ never _ struggled. The morningstar whistled through the air and he shifted as it passed by harmlessly next to his chest, inches from caving in his torso. A needle flew through the air and the man nearly didn’t manage to dodge.

Illumi couldn’t figure out who that child was dancing on the rooftops. He couldn’t be more than sixteen. The weapons kept changing between a lance and a long death reaping scythe and a javelin. Did he have no close range weapons? If he couldn’t summon them, he should carry one. He was barely managing to hold the woman off and herd her away from Machi and Knov, who was developing one hell of a shiner.

Illumi’s long ponytail flicked, smashed a man rushing up to help the man fighting Bisky right in the face, and he belatedly realized that he could most certainly tie small shuriken in his hair to use as a weapon. It would be useful. More needles flew. He was out. He would have to get some more.

Illumi danced back from the man’s snapping hellhounds and skipped over a corpse. More needles were stolen from the dolls trying to get their hands on him. He couldn’t let those dogs near Nobunaga or Bisky. They were practically bleeding Ren. Another needle was snatched up and he kicked the corpse right at the man’s face, bowling him over as the hellhounds leapt forward.

Illumi leapt over their attack, rolled forward, and launched his hand down. The heart stopped, and the dogs faded away. Illumi stood, flicked blood off his hand, and sprang to the side to avoid a falling wall.

The building they were on was about to come down, and Illumi still didn’t have control of his dolls.

_ There. _ In the shadows, a small woman lurked. There was a red thread along her finger, shining with Gyo, and Illumi’s eyes followed it to the sole of his boot.

Oh. Oh, that made more sense. A manipulator with no signs but a Gyo hidden thread you couldn’t see on CCTV connected to a foot.

The one who had sent the pickups. Illumi slashed down with a needle and severed it. Why hadn’t he looked?

No time, really, and he was flagging. Intense combat for forty five minutes now. He had barely managed to take out the snipers. His Nen was stretched thin, barely starting to flow back into him. Two hundred dolls was entirely too much.

Illumi switched up. His dolls were back online. The virus had been eliminated. Now he needed to take her head from her shoulders before she did it again. The man stood before her, three needles tucked on each hand between his fingers, and shifted through the blood to stare her down.

“Gotcha,” she said mischievously and disappeared through the alley. Illumi looked back at Nobunaga.

“She can’t do that again!” Nobunaga shouted.

“Go get her! We can manage!” Bisky was now actually wrestling the man through the blood and viscera, his head locked tight in her grip. She squeezed one last time and blood exploded all over her, spraying her face as his head rolled along the ground.

Yes, they could  _ certainly _ manage. Good god.

Illumi took off down the alley after her, letting his En snap out and spread. He could feel the blank. She was in In, meaning she couldn’t feel how large his En was. Not that she would be so foolish as to think he would have a small range. She had played him for a fool for a good three minutes.

Illumi was considered the best Manipulator on the planet. He wasn’t one for competition, but this woman was challenging his placement. Father would be disappointed if he didn’t slaughter her.

Illumi slid down the corner and neatly dodged a punch to the face. Needles would not do. A Ben knife was drawn, and he slashed left, right, pressing the attack. Just a single slice would do. A nick, even. The woman leapt back, dodged as smoothly as him, and Illumi slid his back leg back fluidly to power forward.

“Oh, isn’t this  _ exciting? _ ” The woman asked. “And who are  _ you? _ Your needles are excellent.”

The world still didn’t know who he was. There were no photographs, no pictures. People paid millions for even a glance. It was a pity she wouldn’t be flattered when she dropped dead.

The woman sprang back even further, drew her own knife. She was young. Pretty, perhaps. A large, aristocratic nose, thin eyes, a delicate jaw, platinum hair. The ease she handled the knife with spoke to how deadly she could be. It was clear she had kept her hatsu secret under the farce of a blade. The two stared at each other and then Illumi sprang forward again, slashed, cut left and right, his free arm pulled in tight to defend himself. Their blades clashed and she danced around his advance. Illumi flicked three needles into his free grasp and kept up his assault, determined to wear her down.

The fight commenced. The two were almost evenly matched. Both were immensely strong, both were immensely powerful, and both were overwhelmingly skilled. Above them, the kid and his opponent soared across. The fight was on the ground, in the air, and deep in Knov’s hotel.

“Your eyes are like buttons,” the woman teased. “Has anyone told you that?”

Hisoka had, when he met Illumi, stood in his way. He’d teased him, too, though that had ended significantly better (in a manner of speaking) than this. To be exact, Illumi had lost his virginity that night, and Hisoka had likely had sex for the first time that he actually wanted it.

This would end with a woman dead in a ditch. Or just on the ground. Or impaled on a power pole. It depended on his mood. Perhaps he would mount her head on a fence, send a picture to Hisoka, tell him he found his Manipulator. Hisoka enjoyed the macabre, even under the mask. It may make him feel better, when he was done.

Illumi would never admit that he was worried. It was just too strange a concept for him.

A lock of perfectly straight black hair flitted to the ground and Illumi’s brain short circuited. She had … landed a hit?

No, that would simply not do. He didn’t want to cut his hair again. No one landed a hit.

His brain now fully engaged on his opponent, Illumi picked up the pace. She failed to follow his lead. Fighting was like dancing, though less difficult. He was a very good dancer, when he needed to be. In the end, she hadn’t stood a chance.

He scarcely noticed as her body dropped. It had been fifteen minutes. One hour, and the fighting was still going. There was a rumble and his head snapped up. Machi and Knov. The building was crashing.

Illumi charged forward, vaulted onto a roof to watch as the building came down. A woven bundle of pink soared through the air, hit the opposing building, and crashed to the ground. The threads shimmered and dissolved, revealing Machi wrapped around Knov protectively as the child landed, looking near tears as he realized his failure.

The web was falling. He could see the Nen rush back into Machi, and it was a lot. She couldn’t restring it now. Even with all that Nen, a hatsu of that sheer magnitude had left her utterly exhausted physically. And Knov was exhausted, too, with his barriers full to bursting and traps still active.

Illumi powered over the roofs and sprang down. They could still put up a fight, but it would be a sloppy one. Sloppy fights got people killed.

Hisoka would be upset if anyone died tonight.

Illumi neatly hit the square and lashed out, taking out another heart. An urge seized him and he delicately licked the blood on his fingernails. Sweet.

“Fucking hell, will you  _ chill? _ ” Nobunaga roared somewhere off the the left and Illumi glanced behind him. Needles flew, centimeters from Nobunaga’s sharp jaw, and impaled a man right in his arteries as he tried to sneak past Nobunaga’s En.

“No,” Illumi replied shortly. The Ben knife was slipped back into its holster and he assessed the situation.

The woman with the scimitar. The man with the glowing eyes and fangs. The only worthwhile opponents left. The rest of the herd had been decimated. Knov still needed to hold the hotel to check for civilians.

The child was concussed. He could tell. He needed to keep that one alive, figure out where he came from, because he was certainly not a Hunter. No teen Hunters had passed the exam since Killua and his friends. Not even older teens. And in a city like this, he was not  _ not _ involved with the mafia. Illumi needed to be sure if putting him down was a reasonable outcome.

Machi wove a pattern between her fingers and made a cat’s cradle, stretched it out, and braced herself in front of Knov. The woman looked between the six of them, looked at her compatriot, and then looked at the kid.

“They killed your uncle, Conrad, and did worse to your brother,” she said to him, very seriously. Conrad, the boy, crouched down.

“My uncle shouldn’t have involved himself like you,” he snarled.

“Money’s money.”

_ “How could you say that? You met me at thirteen!” _ Conrad snarled, bordering on a scream. He was dizzy, uncertain, and registering at the highest threat as his Nen snapped out dangerously. “And Arthur shouldn’t have done that, either! You know what he did!”

“Arthur played with fire and got burned. Nothing to hate him for,” she said soothingly.

Illumi used the distraction. Machi’s threads flew in time with his needles. The woman tried to dodge. The man tried to dodge, and managed it, but the scythe whistled through the air and cut him down before he could make his escape.

The last of them, dead. An hour into the fight. It was over. Illumi stared down in silence at the bodies.

“Arthur?” Nobunaga echoed. Illumi’s head snapped up. Nobunaga looked furious. “Arthur?” He repeated and Conrad looked over at him, utterly bleeding exhaustion and disappointment.

“Will you really take it out on me?” Conrad asked softly. “Feitan already did the damage. He has a habit of leaving my family alive.”

Nobunaga stared at him.

“I knew it,” he said in a whisper. Illumi wasn’t sure what was going on. What had this Arthur done? What did Feitan do to him? How did Conrad factor in?

Conrad was swaying. His eyes rolled back in his head and the scythe disappeared as he crashed into a puddle of blood.

Concussed. He was going to have some brain damage. Brain damage was the worst. It was why Silva said Illumi was so strange.

“So … should we take him and go before the cops show up?” Machi asked awkwardly.

“We can dump him at a hospital the next town over or somethin’.”

“I, for one, need a drink,” Bisky said grandly. She was back in her normal form already.

“I think we broke all the bars.”

“Next town over, then!”

“Sure,” Nobunaga agreed. “I could go for sake. Machi, Knov?”

“Sure,” Machi agreed. “Someone book the hotels.”

Illumi wanted to say something. He didn’t care much about being left out, normally, but he was here, too.

“Illumi? Booking the hotels?” Nobunaga prompted, and oh. He wasn’t being left out.

“We need wet wipes,” was the only thing Illumi could think to say. Everyone collectively looked down at their mess.

“Yeah…” 

“Wet wipes and hotels and sake, then,” Bisky said firmly. “First round’s on me. And we dump little Conrad over here at a hospital.”

And that was that. Illumi killed a bunch of people and made some friends.

Hisoka was always turning his life upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: themorrowfam


	69. The Gravity and The Grandma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox takes on their mission and a new friend.

Nyx hadn’t slept. They had predicted that they wouldn’t, but it was still annoying. The four of them had shared a hotel room the night before and Nyx had spent the entire time on their laptop, checking the cameras they set up at each residence, rechecking, double checking on the scheduling, circling back around to make sure Shalnark had properly installed the remote off switch for every one Feanor’s cameras, so Nyx could get them in the server room and Shalnark would have his focus and hands free to bypass the biometric security, double checking grammar and spelling for the fundraiser that was wired to go live the second the upload was complete, every loose end they could possibly think of.

Shizuku had forgotten four times that she was going to be in zero gravity. Nyx had stopped reminding her. She was excellent at responding to unexpected situations, anyways. Probably because of the memory problem. She needed to see a neurologist, but telling her and the subsequent reminders was not Nyx’s cross to bear.

Kurapika’s chains would work. They had checked before they left. Shoot had the duct tape.

The problem was that the seven houses they had to hit were so spread out. There were maybe seven Hunters in the city, possibly eight, and Nyx didn’t know how they’d react to the file upload. They may not even realize Deylin needed to be prioritized, because if the means of scattering remained, if their ability to cover it up was left intact, it wasn’t likely the ring could be efficiently killed. Even if it was, it still enabled several of the richest members to escape justice, and that was something Nyx refused to accept. They just weren’t going to do it.

Of course, all of the locations were going to be listed. That was a gamble on Hisoka’s part. Without the locations, Hunters wouldn’t know where to hit. The major strikes needed to be listed, and so did the minor ones, and especially the places that couldn’t be hit at all. However, listing them meant that with this team, people could get away. It was all too much of a gamble, but Hisoka had some kind of faith that it would work out.

There were too many places and not enough people to do the job.

Nyx didn’t like to leave things to chance. To Hisoka, there was no such thing as chance, just controlled variables and their uncontrolled counterparts.

So, they were still nervous as they stared at the house. Kurapika was at the wheel, patiently waiting, phone set on his thigh. Nyx wished they had that kind of control. He was calculating. They could see the gears going in his brain. No trace of nervousness, fear, worry. Just quiet confidence. Then again, Nyx also looked completely cool and collected right now. No one would look at them and think they were internally screaming. No, they were calm. Shalnark had gotten into the server room without a hitch. Getting out would be more tricky, but that was why Palm was there. By then there would likely already be too much chaos with the Hunter consultants and the attacks for anyone to notice. And he wouldn’t have to worry about biometrics to bypass to leave.

It was only a few more seconds now.

“You don’t have to worry,” Kurapika suddenly said. Nyx tilted their head questioningly. “About me and Shizuku. I find it’s better to honor the dead by laying them to rest. I exacted justice on Chrollo, and a year later I come back to find him doing… Well, this. Justice is about redemption, not punishment. So I am fine.”

**He’ll always be Chrollo. ** They weren’t sure they bought it. Kurapika pursed his lips.

“I know. And the troupe will always be troupe. But Hisoka is right. Sometimes beasts are needed to put down something far more insidious. So don’t worry. I hold no more animosity for the Spider.”

**At least one of us can get over childhood trauma** ** _, _ ** Nyx typed, a tad bitterly, a tad sadly. They had always secretly hoped they could just let go and move on to be happy. But ultimately they couldn’t. It was their one selfless feature that didn’t extend to their close knit family. They just couldn’t just abandon them.

It was strange to think someone out there had a story so, so close to their own. And yet it was not comforting.

“You don’t have to get over anything,” Kurapika said lowly. “I can put my people to rest. Yours are still alive.”

Nyx wanted to reply. They did. But they couldn’t manage it. There was nothing to really say.

Kurapika’s phone buzzed to life. The signal. In the backseat, so did Shoot’s, and even Shizuku realized the gravity of the situation.

A silent pact grew between the four. They would get all seven houses, even if no one came to help, or they would die trying.

They all stepped out of the car, fell into formation. Shoot rose up on his hand, Blinky came to life, Kurapika’s dowsing chain fell from his finger, and Nyx let out as breath as their aura expanded dramatically. They pushed the gate open, and, just as they agreed, Nyx’s aura stretched out, enveloped the house and immaculate lawns.

Shoot’s hand smashed in the door and the four walked in. The second they stepped inside, Nyx activated Orbitwalk.

Someone had already woken up. They chose this house first for the two Nen bodyguards within. The other investors and hackers had protection, and more, but these two were the most powerful and would have the best response time. They needed to be caught off guard.

Nyx nodded at the three and sank to the ground to sit. They could feel everything in this state. Orbitwalk worked as Ren and En. They could sense every movement, every breath.

Someone else woke up. Another presence came alive, powerful, furious, and then a fourth, tired, annoyed, inconvenienced. The live in guards.

The guards needed to go first. One had a nasty Conjuration ability Shizuku could combat rather easily. The other was an Enhancer that … Yes, he was using a modified Ko to get out of the room and down the hall. Smart. It was a pity that didn’t quite count as an attack. Well, perhaps not. It was entirely up to their own interpretation, but they couldn’t afford to waste Nen right now, as satisfying as it might be.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, catching the banister to keep himself from floating away. He was adapting fairly quickly. Being in zero gravity could be rather nasty for your first time. Most people vomited.

Nyx looked up, locked eyes. They could make this a very unfair fight, plaster him right to the ground, let the team pummel him to death. But the Hunters had some sensibilities, and Nyx was going to respect them for awhile while they quietly killed the people left in the bedrooms. Their target was already slowly dying. He couldn’t die from being crushed, of course, but there were ways around that. Steady pressure on his body until his heart gave out. He was close.

“Hello,” the man said calmly. Nyx never liked to remember the names. “It seems you’re in my area.”

A chair floated into the room and Kurapika’s dowsing ball swung back and forth lazily, tauntingly. It worked when he applied Shu. That was the one downside to Nyx’s ability: if an opponent could figure out to use Shu, they could more easily attack. But that just gave them more Nen to drain.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be complaining,” Kurapika replied calmly.

The guard’s eyes fell on Nyx. He knew they were the one to take out first. Nyx stared back, daring him. He’d have to get through their team first, and he wasn’t going to get through.

The man braced his legs on the wall and pushed off.

It was like watching a space battle. Nyx had always known their ability was optimal for teamwork, but this was their first time getting to see it. Shoot barely even had to move as his fists pummeled the man, who blocked each hit easily. He could take a punch. That was going to be all he was doing. He was calculating, watching as Kurapika hung back. He was smart, but Nyx was smarter. They could kill him the second he attacked.

The man in the bedroom died at the same time as his staff. Nyx wondered if he knew he was defending a corpse.

His fellow guard arrived at the top of the stairs. It had taken him longer to figure out how to move. Nyx, briefly, recalled how Nox had waxed poetic about the genius of different frame rates. That’s what it looked like. A space battle, where Shoot, moving about effortlessly, was at 24 frames as opposed to the rest of the world moving at 3. The second guard moved to mount his attack and Blinky clicked on as tiny metal spheres came into being and soared through the air, small enough and with enough propulsion that they could move easily in the microgravity. Blinky swallowed them and Nyx tilted their head. He was going to have to do better.

“What do you want here?” The second guard demanded and launched another pointless volley. Nyx was content to let him wear himself out before they started stealing. The first guard was already bruised and bloody enough that he was desperate enough to try and fight anyways. Shoot wasn’t letting him near Nyx.

Kurapika finally joined the fight. The chain stretched out, whistling past, and the ball smashed into second’s face, knocking out teeth that floated passively on by.

“I would think it would be obvious,” Kurapika said coolly. “You know who your boss is, after all.”

The dowsing chain came back, spinning in lazy circles.

“What?” The man tried to spit out blood. It fell out easily, spun past. “You got hurt feelings or something? Man’s gotta make a living.”

Nyx had sworn they wouldn’t lose their temper. They’d stay cool, calm, collected. Methodical. A living. Even so, they did not like that very much.

His Nen swelled for another attack. Nyx felt it, relished the meal, and just before it launched, they siphoned it. His attack failed and he froze in confusion. It was the last thing he felt. 11gs crunched down around him and Nyx didn’t even respond to the mess.

The first guard recoiled violently at the particles of human flesh floating on past. Nyx looked over at him, relished the look on his face, the look of an enabler who knew he was about to die.

“Ooh,” Shizuku said faintly and poked at a bone fragment. “That was very messy, Nyx.”

Nyx shrugged as the brief need to kill died away.

“What did you do?” The first guard asked in horror. Nyx let a self satisfied smile touch their lips and they lifted their hand.

“ _ P-h-y-s-i-c-s. _ ” He had no idea what they said. What a disappointment. That was a good line.

He was desperate, tried to power up his hand to swing at Shoot. Nyx siphoned it. He tried to do it again and Shoot neatly dodged it. At this point they were just wasting time. Nyx siphoned the next attack, and the next, and looked over at Kurapika pointedly.

Finish it up or I will.

Kurapika got the hint. His dowsing chain lashed out with enough force to break his neck the second he wrapped around and pulled. There was a snap, loud, and the life drained out of his eyes. The silence after a man’s death was deafening.

“That was kind of gross, Nyx,” Shoot said and dodged a glob of viscera.

“ _ Satisfying, no? _ ”

“Little bit.”

Blinky opened his maw and sucked up the body and remains. Nyx stood as Orbitwalk dropped, neatly dusted off their hands.

“Did you already kill everyone upstairs?” Kurapika asked as he tucked his tie back into his suit jacket. Nyx nodded and Kurapika let out a confused laugh.

“Why are we even here?”

“ _ So I don’t die I guess, _ ” they signed and Shoot obligingly translated. There was a lot of broken glass. Who needed so many vases? It was tacky.

**Also,** they wrote on second thought,  **just because I CAN doesn’t mean I SHOULD. If I did this alone I wouldn’t last to house seven. There’s a sacrificial element on my siphoning. I have to give away as much as I use. Builds up pretty quickly, depending on my opponents. We should get going.**

The four set out. Nyx almost liked working in a support capacity. It was like how they used to give Nox the bulk of their conjoined Nen to operate as a guard. Yeah, they could utterly wreck everything, but they didn’t  _ have _ to. And they didn’t really want to. They didn’t like themselves very much when they were gratuitously smashing everything in sight. It was akin to having too many energy drinks. Also, the siphoning could be very necessary, and when that necessity built up they could be completely depleted.

So it was nice. To know that you could, but you don’t have to.

Besides, Orbitwalk had always been about support, from the first moment Nox had hit the ground at ten and Nyx had longed for a chance to stop the hit before it landed. So little, so fragile, so vulnerable. They had always wanted to stop it.

It was always about support.

It was always about Nox.

All four slipped back into the car and drove away from the crime scene. Nyx pulled their knee to their chin, checked the time. It had taken fifteen minutes. They were running on a good schedule.

“Do you think the seven Hunters here will come?” Kurapika asked lowly. Nyx sighed a little.

“ _ I don’t know, _ ” they signed with Shoot’s echo.

**Not many will see the importance** , they added. They didn’t want him to take his eyes off the road too much.

“Well. I won’t say you have to be smart to be a Hunter,” Kurapika acknowledge. His fingers were tapping the wheel. “But Hisoka did have the importance stressed.”

“ _ I’m not sure it’ll be enough. _ ” Shoot stumbled a little, but he got the gist.

**Hunters are glory hunters. There’s more glory in Gorten or York New.**

“We’re not  _ all  _ like that,” Shoot grumbled from the backseat. Nyx snorted.

**Knowing Nox and your teacher, there won’t be much glory to be found. I estimate the bulk will be done in under an hour.**

“I think it’ll be forty minutes,” Shizuku said passively. “Given the speed and quality of their conjurations and the effectiveness of Franklin and Bonolenov’s damage output. We should race them.”

It was so easy to forget that Shizuku was incredibly intelligent. Nyx appreciated the unpredictability.

“I don’t think we’ll need to…” Kurapika said slowly. Nyx looked up. The next house, close to a mansion, was entirely on fire. Craters had been burned into the lawn, with massive holes in the building. On the lawn, two figures were battling it out.

Kurapika put the car in park and the four of them stared incredulously as an actual grandmother in an orange tracksuit viciously clashed with a man ten times her size. A blow from her knocked him twenty feet back and he came back with a roar. She blocked his next strike, and then very forcefully kicked him right in the crotch.

“Should we … go help or …?” Shoot started out awkwardly.

“No, I think I want to just watch,” Kurapika replied distantly.

She had cats on her shirt. Nyx was delighted.

The granny grabbed him by the head, smashed him through a wall, and lifted him to throw him across the lawn right into the burning wreckage. He didn’t emerge.

She turned and her eyes fell on the car with the four of them, staring with varying degrees of incredulity and glee. Very carefully, she stepped over the twisted heap of the gate and walked up to the car.

“Hello, darlings,” she said kindly. “Do you kids have something to do with that little notification I just got on my phone?”

All four nodded in unison, still dumbstruck.

“And who did all that work, hm?”

Kurapika, Shoot, and Shizuku all pointed to Nyx, who had a certain amount of color climbing their cheeks.

“Excellent organization and information compression, darling,” she said warmly. “Really, I could not have done better. My boys are hitting a couple of the other houses on your list. Looks like you just came from another one.” She reached out and rubbed at a splash of blood on Kurapika’s cheek with one thumb. He didn’t try to stop her.

“Well. I’m Cordelia Cannon. Aren’t you going to introduce yourselves?”

Shoot choked in the backseat. He knew the name, apparently. Nyx had never heard it.

“I’m Kurapika Kurta. That’s Shoot McMahon, Shizuku Murasaki, and this is Nyx Mor … Just Nyx.” He caught himself. How kind.

“I’m a big fan of your work,” Shoot blurted. He looked like he was meeting a celebrity.

“Shoot, hm? Morel’s boy? Why are you running around with a Spider? Why is a Kurta, for that matter?”

“I suppose there’s causes that can unite anyone,” Kurapika replied quickly. “Which houses are left?”

“Oh!” Shizuku had remembered. “The Blacklist Hunter! Oh, I remember you! You nearly killed me!”

“I just couldn’t bloody up such a sweet face, darling,” Cordelia replied warmly. “You were so young, poor thing. And two, if Yuno doesn’t hurry his butt. The one right up the way has been left. Mind if I have a lift? My joints are aching.”

Shoot was already moving over. Nyx had no idea how to respond to this. They wanted to work as support, but whatever her hatsu was, it was a tremendous amount of firepower that did not need to be in microgravity. Oh, well. They’d adapt.

Cordelia slipped in and that was it. The team had gotten themselves a grandmother.

Kurapika accepted that as that and put the car in drive. It was only five minutes away.

“Was that Meteor Shower?” Shoot asked. He looked like he couldn’t contain himself. What happened to the serious deadpan?

“Oh, you must be a fan.”

“Morel told me about you. You were one of his teachers, weren’t you?”

“Oh, that boy was such a mess when I met him. What’s he up to? Is he with you all?”

“Yes, he’s with Nyx’s twin and two Spiders in York New. Knuckle is with Kurapika’s friend and two other Spiders in Tindin.”

“Tindin? Hm. That’s a tricky one. Looks like you’d need a bomb to handle that. Kurapika, can your friend make bombs?” She was so conversational. Nyx didn’t know how to jump in.

“No, my friend is Leorio Paradinight.”

Cordelia laughed brightly at that.

“Of course! I remember now. You’re friends with Ging’s boy! I keep telling Ging he takes the tough love too far, but he doesn’t listen to me. Never does.”

“He and Gon are actually going through a lot of growth right now, since the twins have been teaching Gon,” Kurapika replied and Nyx startled slightly. “Gon says they had a really good talk.”

“Oh? You look so young to be teaching,” Cordelia commented. “But, then again, if you managed that file, whew, you must have a lot of skills on hand.”

Nyx was saved from having to reply by them pulling up to the mansion. Apparently, either the explosion or the file had alerted them to the strike, because men were lined up in front of the mansion, guns in hand.

The team piled out of the car and started to stroll up towards the mansion. Nyx’s gaze swept back and forth. Bullets. Cars about to pull away. Four team members to support. Their brain whirred with equations in the split second before the shitshow started.

Guns clicked into place and in the brief pause before the fire started, Nyx lifted their arms. They could spread their aura to specific points, but when they split it in half, they had to intensify it in each area. The bullets couldn’t be stopped with microgravity alone, so the majority of power would have to be poured there. There had to be just enough pressure to halt the momentum, and then they could redirect the power to intensifying the microgravity needed to keep four cars floating.

The air exploded as their teammates dodged. Nyx didn’t move, didn’t budge. Cordelia was a Blacklist Hunter with a high degree of intelligence, they already knew. She would be able to read the situation in enough time to know to take advantage of those precious few moments of ignorance, and then the few seconds of surprise. Their teammates would know, too. They had to give them those moments. People would try to get out of the cars, and Shizuku could suck them up to cut off their escape. Cordelia had raw crushing strength, so she would go directly for the men, and Shoot and Kurapika would take advantage of the men trying to get out of the cars to capture or kill them while they were trapped in microgravity.

This was all computed microseconds before they engaged. Aura was poured into the air around the bullets, applying the pressure to stop them. The cars rose into the air, bumped together, spun in circles as the bullets joined them in their aimless dance. The bullets nullified, more aura was poured into the dropping cars as Nyx fought against the  _ real _ gravity of the earth.

Exactly as predicted. Men poured out of the cars and Blinky clicked on, sucking up the vehicles and cutting off a swift escape. Cordelia smashed down into the group of men, sending them soaring away from the crater she made on impact. Kurapika and Shoot launched their assault on the men in the vehicles, battling it out with their bodyguards, and Shizuku leapt to help Cordelia, Blinky smashing left and right as a weapon of blunt force trauma.

It was too chaotic for Orbitwalk right now. Nyx pulled the knife out of the holster on their thigh and charged forward, hacking and slashing. Men went flying with their own momentum and a little Ko, guns clattered to the ground, throats were slashed, arteries punctured, arms broken, teeth knocked out. It was a brawl, and over in less than a minute.

Nyx had blood on their face. They weren’t even very winded. It had just been such a rush, to compute all the variables, work out the math, and execute in a few moments before disaster. They hadn’t even known they could do that.

“It’s you.”

A man in an expensive white suit, on the ground, knocked down by a flying fist. His face was swollen. Nyx knew him. They’d forgotten his name. On purpose. Filthy. His breath had always reeked of cigarettes, his sweat always smelled the worst.

Nyx stared down at him. He still thought he had power? Here?

“Didn’t get very big, did you?” He spat out a tooth. Nyx just kept staring at him, calculating, cold. “You think doing all of this is going to fucking undo it, huh? That’s what you think?”

He knew he was about to die. It was almost amusing, to see him try to flex his power. He was going to try to convince them that killing him wouldn’t undo it, only show that they were mad, so he had all the power. Because he could make them mad.

Kurapika had noticed. He made a move, but Nyx held up a hand. They wanted him to finish it. They wanted him to say it, relish it.

“I still fucked you. You and your little twin. I still beat you,” he hissed out. Spitting, raging, angry. What a pathetic way to go. “There will  _ always _ be men like me. You haven’t done  _ anything. _ ”

Nyx slowly crouched before him, put a hand on his chest, felt his heartbeat. And then they met his eyes and smiled as they slowly, slowly, increased the pressure. Slow. Even. His heart struggled to cope. The anger and rage that one of the kids had dared rise up and hit him back, ten times as hard, faded in time for fear to take hold. Nyx just kept increasing, forcing him down onto his back.

Everyone was watching them. Nyx had known this might happen, that someone would recognize them, know them. York New held a smaller chance of that for Nox. But Nyx didn’t wear a mask. They wanted them to know who, know that no matter how many times they reemerged, there was always going to be a Morrow. There was always going to be someone who hit back.

There was always going to be men like him, but there was always going to be people like Nyx, people like Kurapika, people like Shoot, people like Shizuku, people like Cordelia, who stood up and said no.

He tried to look away. They grabbed his face and dragged it back, forced him to look right in their eyes.

Abject terror.

His heart stopped. Nyx stayed there for a moment, making sure he was really dead.

They stood back up.

He might have fucked them a lifetime ago, but the only seeds he sowed were of his own demise.

Shoot hadn’t known. He’d suspected, but he hadn’t known. Cordelia was an abject stranger. But it was fine. It was bound to happen.

Kurapika came up beside them, looked down at the cooling corpse.

“Are you okay?” He asked lowly. Nyx nodded. They needed to do it. They needed to make a point. Not to the bodies on the ground, not to their team, but to themselves.

Nyx was always tightly controlled. They kept their entire sense of self in boxes, only to be used when they needed it. They were tidy, organized, always, always in charge. Nothing was ever out of place with Nyx. It was always right there, right where it belonged.

They felt powerless. All the time. Powerless about the path they had taken, powerless about what had happened to them, powerless in how to change it. Their hatsu was based on that feeling of being powerless, out of control, about wanting to have total control and show people what it felt like.

They didn’t feel so powerless now. Because ultimately, this was working. They had done it.

Because he may have fucked them, but they had the last laugh, and he had died knowing how pitiful he had always been. And they were all dying knowing that no matter how much they power they had grown and accumulated, they were nothing in the face of the hatred and pain and suffering they had created.

The ring had always been powerless in the face of the Morrows and what they represented, who they stood for.

Nyx was never the one without it.

They turned and walked slowly back to their team in a tight little circle. No one said anything. A man, tall and lanky, all oddly placed joints and long fingers, appeared at the gate.

“Granny!” He called and she waved back.

“Hello, Yuno! I just met these lovely kiddos! Come over here!”

The man jogged up and joined the circle and Cordelia sighed rather dramatically.

“Well, that was a nice little workout, wasn’t it, darlings? My boys should be coming around any minute now. I bet you all skipped dinner before your mission. Are you hungry? I can whip up a quick casserole!”

“Uh…” Shoot looked over at Nyx questioningly. They shrugged. It was fine with them. She was right. They  _ had _ skipped dinner.

“Do you have a blender?” Kurapika asked bluntly.

“Of course I have a blender, lovely, don’t be rude. Why?”

“Nyx can’t eat solid foods very well so they generally live off shakes,” Kurapika explained. “We wouldn’t mind so long as they aren’t left out.”

“Oh!” Cordelia bounced a little comically. Nyx liked her. Strange old woman who just blew up an entire mansion inviting complete strangers to her house for dinner? That was fine by them. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling, do you not speak because you’re missing a tongue?”

Nyx nodded.

“Well, then. You must be needing a lot of nutrients on a liquid diet. I can make you a lovely mango green smoothie.”

And that was that. The team was walking away from the carnage Nyx had built up to for their entire life with a strange old lady and her flock of students, and they found themselves wondering how many more friends they could make in random circumstances. They were going to have a lifetime ahead of them of odd happenstance and happy accidents.

They were looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed my Monday upload! I'm uploading a second chapter to stay on schedule. There's a lot going on in my personal life right now. I'm going to try to stay on top of uploads.
> 
> I hope you all liked Cordelia! She was wonderful to write.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	70. The Bruises and The Bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feitan unleashes his retribution.

Feitan was not a big fan of this plan. Not. At. All. Trust Hisoka to find a laugh at his expense and make it hard to argue with. Because, objectively, it did make sense. Feitan was literally a ticking time bomb. He was the perfect solution to the problem at hand. He was still not happy about the fact that he would have to be punched in various locations multiple times to make it work.

Hisoka may have said only one punch from Phinks would do it, but Feitan wanted to be excessive tonight. He wanted to burn it all to the ground. These were the leaders, foolishly gathered in one location, and he had gotten to know the Morrows enough that he felt the appropriate levels of anger given the situation.

The damage had to match. He would accept nothing less.

The meeting hall was across the street. The four men were sitting on the roof, watching the movement. Leorio was in charge of knocking out the guards in front from the roof so Feitan could get in without incident. A few blocks away some off duty bodyguards and a couple bosses were playing cards. The other three were in charge of getting over there once they let Feitan loose to take them out.

“How many rotations?” Phinks asked.

“Three. And then Leorio needs to hit me with volley,” Feitan replied. Phinks glanced over at him.

“You only need one hit from me.”

Feitan glowered at the doors below them.

“I want it big,” he growled. That had Leorio’s attention now.

“I feel like this is a bad idea,” Leorio cautioned.

“Do not care,” Feitan replied. “Why you want little sun when you can have big one?”

“You’re really pissed, dude,” Knuckle came in and Feitan let out an exasperated sigh.

“You are not?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not telling people to try to collapse my internal organs.”

Feitan thought back to Nox’s bruised body. He had barely seen any real skin.

“Other people make bigger sacrifices for this. I can handle little bruising.”

Phinks gave him a suspicious look.

“Is this about Nox?”

“No.” Not exactly. He and Nox had that kind of understanding of damage becoming more power. The more damage you take, the more power you achieved. He wanted more power. So, if anything, he was inspired. Not on a protective rampage.

Then again, he had said it. They wanted them dead, so he would make it happen. He didn’t specify how excessive he’d be to do it.

“Bullshit. I saw Nyx after.”

“Nox and I just share same understanding of sacrifice.”

“After what?” Leorio blurted and Feitan sighed.

“Is long story with several elements. Maybe tell you later. And no, Phinks, it does not have to do with Black Symphony. I just want damage to match anger right now. And I am very angry.”

Phinks whistled lowly.

“You’re really in love, dude.”

“I would punch you through this roof if we did not need to be quiet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just try to not get shot.”

“They cannot shoot if their guns melt,” Feitan muttered darkly.

Knuckle and Leorio’s phones buzzed in unison. The notification. In perfect synchronization, the four men stood and Phinks pushed up his sleeve.

“Brace yourself,” he warned Feitan and Feitan slid his feet out as Phinks cranked one, two, three times and swung.

Pain exploded across Feitan’s chest and he slid back several feet, right into Knuckle’s chest. A deadly glare was leveled on Leorio.

“Hit me,” he hissed and Leorio lashed out. Knuckle braced him, held him in place as blows landed all down Feitan’s chest and legs, bursting blood vessels and narrowly avoiding breaking bones. A surgeon’s precision, designed to hit all the soft spots that would hurt the worst. Feitan took a deep breath, drank in the throbbing pain. Oh, it was there.

Knuckle let him go as Leorio knelt to take out the two guards. They collapsed in a heap as Feitan removed his coat, handed it to Knuckle, and stepped to the edge of the roof. He could feel the pressure build, the need to unleash the burning heat. His aura grew, expanded dramatically, murderous and craving death, and he cast one glance over his shoulder at the stunned Leorio and Knuckle and ready Phinks.

“Run.”

And he dropped to the ground as the three scattered. He felt his body ache and cry, relished it, drank it up.

This is what it felt like to Nox. It was nice to have a reminder of what they had in common. Feitan barely paid notice to his surroundings as he strolled in, hands in his pockets. How kind of Leorio to knock out the guards at the doors of the meeting room. Feitan put his hands on the door and pushed. They crashed in, slammed against the walls, and his regalia began to form.

No one had a chance to react as his sun formed in the center of the room, crashed through the ceiling. Shouts rained out, someone flew at him, and he caught him by the throat, looked in his eyes, watched as he scrambled to breathe in the burning heat. His skin shriveled, shrank as all the moisture was slowly sucked from his pores. It turned red, molded to his bones.

“Do you feel it?” Feitan hissed. His eyes were on fire.

The man couldn’t respond because he was already dead. Feitan tossed the corpse aside. He had barely even heard the screams.

Rising Sun began to die. It had been intense. The guns had melted, the building was coming down. Feitan had melted the bricks.

The building began to crash down around him as his regalia faded, crushing what remained of the bodies. It had lasted five minutes this time. Five glorious minutes. They felt so good.

Feitan turned and deliberately walked out as the roof caved in behind him. He had cooked the entire street.

They had probably already reached the gambling den by now. Feitan considered joining them, but by the time he got there they would already be finished. He chose to just stroll instead towards the meeting point, through the city blocks as screams echoed in the night and sirens wailed.

This should feel like just another job. In, out, over and done with. It didn’t feel like it. The troupe had always felt like the biggest thing he could be a part of, the only thing he needed to be a part of, but now he understood what it was like to do the right thing. To be a part of something bigger than himself, bigger than the troupe, bigger than the Morrows. He had scarcely noticed the men die. Because, ultimately, their lives meant very little. They were insignificant, an infestation to be exterminated. It had always been about the death before.

Perhaps loving Nox had shown him what it was like to give someone a little hope. How good it felt. How vindicating the experience was. Everyone had quietly known they wouldn’t walk out of this unchanged. No one said it, voiced it. But they’d all known.

He thought about his fragile wrecking ball. Their vulnerability captivated him. He saw sad eyes and a heavy weight on their shoulders. He knew why they had run from Knuckle and that room. No one had stepped up and done what they needed to do. No one had done the job Nox shouldn’t have had to. The reason the Morrows were so driven, so unable to deviate from their path was because the world had told them it wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

The duality of his feelings was surprising to him. He wouldn’t trade Nox for the world. Just as they were. But he understood was this meant to them, and what it meant to him. The Morrows hadn’t had a chance. They wanted everyone else to have that chance they were denied. And Feitan had just helped them get there. He wanted it, too. Not for Nox, but for himself, and for the chances that were about to blossom across the planet.

It felt a little nice.

He was almost at the meeting point. Ahead of him, Knuckles was sitting with his back to a fountain as a stray dog muscled between his legs for pets. Leorio was sitting on the lip of the fountain, Phinks was leaning against a lamp post with his arms crossed.

“Took your time,” Phinks quipped. He must had cranked his arm a lot. He was covered in blood.

“Is nice night. I like police sirens,” Feitan replied lazily. Phinks held out his coat and he shrugged it back on. “Have fun?”

“I didn’t even get to use A.P.R,” Knuckles complained.

“It is long game hatsu. They did not have stamina,” Feitan replied dismissively.

They were on a hill with an extensive vantage point. Phinks looked down, all the way down at the maze of red tents in the plains at the foot of the city.

“Should we go help them?” He asked. Feitan was silent, contemplating.

“No. Hisoka must do that on his own. Or. With Chrollo. We would be in way.”

“Why shouldn’t we? We’re done,” Knuckle said.

“Alexandre raised him,” Phinks said quietly. “He doesn’t want anyone there but Chrollo.”

“What?” Leorio blurted and Phinks cocked an eyebrow.

“Why did you think Nox ran out like that? The Morrows are ring survivors. Didn’t Gon tell you?”

“No! He just told me Feitan and Nox were dating!”

Feitan just sighed and sat next to Knuckle, let the dog sniff his hand and lick it. He liked dogs when they were calm. Ri was better, as devious as he was. He was still convinced he was plotting.

The four fell into silence. Feitan was bruised up, significantly depleted in Nen, and starting to feel a little tired. Another thing he and Nox had in common was being entirely excessive and completely overdoing it, apparently.

“You know,” Knuckle said quietly as Feitan scratched behind the dog’s ears. “They say the best Hunters are good with animals.”

“Then they are very wrong,” Feitan replied wryly. The dog’s tail slowly started to wag in pleasure.

“You should take the exam just to test it.”

“Am very recognizable,” Feitan pointed out.

“I think after this people are willing to forget. Ging may just pull some strings and get you all pardoned in most countries.”

“Would just do it again. No point,” Feitan pointed out.

“Can’t know unless you try, right?”

“Hm. Maybe.” Nox was taking the exam with Nyx and Ky’ia. Maybe he’d just tag along. A Hunter license, as Shalnark had proven, was extremely useful.

“I kinda want a beer after that,” Phinks said and stretched. “First round’s on me. Coming, guys?”

  
The promise of alcohol had everyone perking up and climbing to their feet. A cold beer sounded perfect right now. Feitan wondered how their other teams were doing. It was a pity they were so far from Gorten. They could use a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: themorrowfam


	71. The Tent and The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown.

It had been an hour since he arrived at the circus, and thirty minutes since he’d been seated in Alexandre’s tent. Hisoka couldn’t remember the last time he was here, surrounded by red and gold and punishing nausea. He couldn’t even remember the last thing he had said to Alexandre, how this conversation was going.

His mind was drifting. He was supposed to be on, in control. But he couldn’t think when he was surrounded by red like this. He couldn’t think when he could smell the mothballs, the dirt in the fabric, feel the breeze pass through the weave. He just wasn’t managing well at all tonight.

He felt like he was in a cool ocean. He could hear the roar in his ears. He had coached the twins on that roar, told them they needed to find their anchor, but for the life of him he couldn’t get out of the water. It was icy cold, pulling him down into a deeper abyss.

Triggered. He was triggered here.

The ocean was red. It was red and the foam was gold and he was being swallowed alive. Alexandre’s cool, smooth baritone was luring him into further panic. He wasn’t sure he could manage tonight. He wasn’t sure he could do it. How could he? Alexandre was his …

The twins were his children. His siblings, and his children. They were his babies.

It mattered more.

The red washed away, slowly, steadily. Red tents. Gold accents. Red, red, red. Red and white made pink. He had chosen it, as his own way of sanctifying his red hair, his red brows, his bloody red life. The Morrows all had their own sanctity.

He was distracted. The twins had predicted this. This was the last show of the tour and they weren’t going to pack up for a few days. There was an air of complacency. Normally, that would wind Hisoka up, make his mouth salivate and eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. He just felt … sad in the absence of the sea. It was disgusting that he felt sad. For years, this had been his only home, as nightmarish as it was.

“You’re very distracted, Soka,” Alexandre said from the other side of the rug. “Are you hiding things from me again?”

Hisoka forced himself to focus on him. It was a struggle. Graying black hair. Lines he’d watched form over the years. Tired eyes. A disarming smile Hisoka had been on the receiving end of so, so many times. Why did this hurt? Was it conditioning?

He was getting old. He had been so young, so vibrant when he first found Hisoka. Was he even thirty? Forty, perhaps? Hisoka didn’t know.

It was almost time. Any minute now and his phone was going to be lighting up.

“Do you remember what you said to me,” Hisoka said lowly, “when you first … received me?” Alexandre didn’t like the b word.

“Refresh me,” Alexandre replied warmly. Hisoka remembered how he’d picked him up, balanced him on his hip. He’d been small as a child.

“You told me I would never need another home.” Hisoka felt like his voice was going to break. “Sometimes I wondered if you knew what home meant, since you made it so nightmarish.”

“Are you having another fit, Soka?” Alexandre was layered in false concern. Hisoka knew what he was thinking, how he was thinking to threaten, to follow through on his last threat, the promise that Hisoka would be locked away indefinitely the next time he acted out. So, he chose to ignore the question.

“I think I’ve been able to make a home out of anywhere,” Hisoka said softly. “Out of all the broken mismatched pieces I can find. And you keep trying to take it from me.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I wouldn’t take anything from you. You’re my boy,” Alexandre said kindly, and there it was, the anger Hisoka was missing. It had run away from him, but it came back.

His children. He needed to protect his children from the monsters under their bed.

“You always take from me,” Hisoka said coolly. The rage was back, and in full force. “I thought this would be hard. You’re my father, as twisted as it is. But you do nothing but take. You’ve given me nothing but grooming to replace you since you can’t let it die. At first you were concerned with money, and so you took my dignity, my innocence, my sanity, my childhood. And then you were afraid of dying, so you took anything you could tell I was attached to. People you thought I was lying about. Places I liked to go. Anything and everything to ensure I would have nowhere to go but back to these tents. Do you remember how you had that forest I liked sold to developers? It was destroyed in a few years. You want to say you’ve given me chances and opportunities. But you didn’t. You just wanted to make me you, and that’s the only reason you love me. Because you only truly care about you.”

Alexandre didn’t say anything. He was ready to strike, to knock Hisoka down, steal him away, wrap him up in chains until he “behaved”. Hisoka leaned forward on his elbows.

“I thought I could only be you, because I didn’t know anything else, but I think I may have been wrong. I found two people. A set of twins at death’s door, six years ago in a pile of rubble. And I raised them. By myself, on my own, with no one but a doctor to help me. We’re a little fucked up, a little unhealthy, but I did it. I did what you could never do, and I learned how to love someone selflessly, and I did a good fucking job, despite what you’d have me believe about myself. And you had them tortured, and you didn’t even know. But you know what? They came back stronger for it, and so did I, and no matter how tonight turns out, no matter if you kill me, I just want you to know,  _ I beat you anyways. _ And I want you to know that  _ you did it to yourself. _ ”

That was the limit. Alexandre’s Nen crackled to life, all consuming, powerful, threatening to push Hisoka into the ground. He didn’t budge as his phone chimed with a notification. Alexandre stood, stared down at him as the tent shook with his power.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

There he was. The smugness. The satisfaction. Hisoka could die today, but it would be in a blaze of glory that shook the continent. Lazily, he held up his phone for Alexandre to look at, eyes half lidded in pleasure.

“It seems I stepped on your legacy. My apologies.”

The room exploded as the Hydra formed and Hisoka sprung back in a flip, right out the tent flaps to slide around the corner and power towards the main tent. Basho and Chrollo had done their jobs. Liquid puddles of former humans were all over the ground, bodies were laid about with black veins and white eyes. It seemed Basho had made a poison needle. Effective. And all around them was a sea of red and gold, tents that stretched on and on with no end in sight. An optical illusion, designed to disorientate.

In the distance, a brilliant sun rose in the sky. Feitan was moving quickly. Hisoka could taste the rage from here. It was almost touching.

There was crashing and hissing a mere twenty feet behind him. Hisoka slid into the main tent, panting painfully. Chrollo was meant to meet him here. Hisoka needed to get to a vantage point before the Hydra got too big. The plan was to force him into summoning it over and over until he got too drained to continue.

It was close, snarling, furious. Chrollo was close, too. He was in In, but Hisoka just knew he was coming. His eyes fell on the tightrope. Could he fight on that? Probably. He could dance on it, after all, and dancing was far more difficult than fighting.

The Hydra burst through, Alexandre on its heels, and Hisoka sprang back from the snapping jaws. He slid across the dirt, kicking up dust until his heel just barely tapped the edge of the barrier. The two met eyes across the space.

“I don’t understand, Soka,” Alexandre lamented as he strolled around in a circle, pushing Hisoka back to the Hydra. It was black today. He was in an ugly mood. “You were so smart to figure it out. So you must have been smart enough to figure it out.”

Hisoka stopped and held his ground, a card tucked between each finger.

“I run the world from these tents,” Alexandre said. “I can have any election I want. I have dirt on every politician, every businessman, every CEO, every celebrity. If I wanted the challenge, I could control the Zoldycks within a few years. So I just don’t understand. I made all of this for  _ you. _ You love power. Intellectual, physical. You love a challenge. So I fail to see why you would bite the hand that feeds you.”

Something ugly twisted in Hisoka’s gut.

“Don’t put this on me. You were doing this long before you even knew I existed,” he snapped. The Hydra struck and Hisoka sprang up and away from its yawning maw, letting his cards release to stick in its thick hide. “This isn’t my fault.” It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t falter now.

It wasn’t his fault.

“It’s about  _ legacy _ ,” Alexandre snarled and advanced on Hisoka again. Hisoka moved back, away. Two to three direct hits from Alexandre could kill him. He knew. He had seen it. He’d seen him take a man’s head from his shoulders when he was seven. Hisoka had cleaned his hand when he was finished. He could still feel the sticky hot blood on the handkerchief. He knew.

“You were chosen for  _ my _ legacy,” Alexandre growled. “And look at what you’ve  _ done. _ ”

The Hydra was circling around. As mad as he was, Alexandre wasn’t going to kill him. He wanted him alive. He wanted to hold him for eternity and Hisoka knew it. If it came to it, Hisoka would bite his own tongue off to prevent it.

They were cutting off his escape. Hisoka let more cards fly and ripped the others from the Hydra’s flesh to close in on Alexandre. A simple shift and the damage was averted, but it was enough space for Hisoka to dive past the hissing beast, barely missing a fang, hit the ground, and spring back with bloody cards between his fingers yet again. His shirt had been torn by the fangs. Too close.

“Then you should have known better than to pick someone who sees power and wants to wreck it,” Hisoka replied coolly. As angry and vulnerable as he felt, it had to be Alexandre that was out of control. He needed to contain himself. “Did you  _ really _ think I wouldn’t look at all that you’ve done and been seized with the need to trash it? Really? I’m almost disappointed in you.”

“You think you  _ love _ those twins of yours?” He was reaching hysterics. He looked cool and composed, but he was hysterical, intent on being cruel, as cruel as he could be. “You can’t  _ love _ . I made sure that you wouldn’t be able to  _ love. _ ”

The Hydra lashed out again and Hisoka sprang free, released more cards to slice through the air and thunk into the seats as they were dodged again. More, more, more, two packs, three packs, four, five, six, seven, as he danced out of the way of strikes and dripping saliva. The tent was coated in his web. He was starting to sweat. It was a lot of Nen, well over three hundred.

“I think you know better than most that no one can tell me what I can and cannot do,” he said, so soft it hurt. “I don’t want this monstrosity you’ve built for ‘me’. It doesn’t  _ deserve _ me. So I want to burn it. And I did it.”

Their eyes met across the tent. He wanted Alexandre to realize that it wasn’t Hisoka having a temper fit. It was him. Because he had already lost, and he knew it. The only solace he could find here was one small victory that would mean absolutely nothing. Hisoka had already taken everything he had. He was nothing.

Where was Chrollo?

“You’ve won  _ nothing, _ ” Alexandre hissed. The Hydra struck again and Hisoka flipped back to land fluidly on the barrier in a crouch, arms dangling between his legs.

“If I’ve won nothing, why are you so worked up, hm?” It was a strange kind of power, to switch between mask and self, to blend them together in this final showdown. The two things that brought him here today were seeing him through to the end.

“I would say it’s the dawning realization of his own insignificance.”

The tent flap opened and Chrollo strode in. Hisoka’s heart flared. He came. Of course he would, but it was different, seeing him in the flesh.

Alexandre looked between the two of them, weighing his options, weighing the trap Hisoka had so elegantly laid out through the tent, weighing his knowledge of Chrollo. He came to a conclusion rather quickly, and the Hydra swelled with Nen before it bore down on Hisoka.

Just as Hisoka had planned. Alexandre poured a sizeable amount into the creature. Milliseconds before it struck, Hisoka leapt. The head blurred under him and he used it as a springboard for his hands to gather more power, more momentum, push him back to Chrollo. Behind him, the barrier exploded in a spray of wood shrapnel, but he scarcely noticed as one sliced his cheek. The air rushed past him and Chrollo knew exactly what to do. He braced, hands clasped, and Hisoka’s feet slammed into them. Chrollo powered up his Nen and launched Hisoka up with a burst of Ko, sending him flying. Right to the tightrope, fifty feet in the air.

Hisoka caught it. The rope burned into his hands and he stuck himself for just a moment to swing himself up to stand. It had been years since he had walked this rope, but it felt like yesterday.

“Well, Alexandre?” He called down tauntingly. “Will you let me stand here and take shots while you try to fight Chrollo Lucilfer with nothing but your body and a snake, or will you come up here and bring me down yourself, hm?”

There were too many strands for Alexandre to follow while fighting Chrollo. They both knew that. Chrollo passively opened his book, placed the marker as a sigil burned onto his hand. A hazard sign. He tucked the book back into his coat, shifted, and stared at Alexandre with dull, flat eyes.

He was furious. The knowledge that he could see it and Alexandre could not filled Hisoka with glee. There was that telltale twitch in his bloodlust, that little marker signifying he would battle it out with that Hydra to the end. Hisoka licked his lips. Chrollo was delicious.

Alexandre made his choice. All of that terrifying Nen that had surrounded Hisoka as a child welled up and he leapt, landing easily on the tightrope, light as a feather.

The Hydra struck and so did Alexandre. What he didn’t realize, however, was that the cards were never placed for the ground. Every single one was placed at the optimal angle to cut any flesh on this tightrope without even fraying the fibers. And Hisoka had an edge up here. He had Bungee Gum to keep him in place. Alexandre did not. A fifty foot drop may not seem like much to a Nen user, but if you had enough of them eventually something would break. Especially at his age.

Alexandre swung at Hisoka and the battle commenced. Every blow he could avoid was avoided. Alexandre packed limitless power in every punch, every kick. But Hisoka had grown. He had grown a lot, and he could take a hit now.

It was precarious, fighting on a tightrope. Even with the gum, every step had to be perfect, his center of gravity had to remain immaculate. Part of the reason Hisoka had chosen to teach the twins the way he did was because he knew the power in offsetting someone’s balance, in redirecting their momentum consistently to soften every blow, especially with their size, in being constantly aware of your own balance and what you could do with it. Even the most devastating hits could be little more than a weak slap if you could redirect it. All the Nen in the world paled in comparison to simple physics.

And he was definitely using that right now. Alexandre was the one who taught him to walk a tightrope. That was how he started. And he was just as good at it. Another kick, and Hisoka blocked it, pushed it aside to throw off his momentum. Another swing, and Hisoka redirected it. Another uppercut, another push, another grab, another twist out of his grasp as his shirt finally shredded, leaving him in his undershirt and pants. It took him a moment to realize he’d done a pirouette.

“You’re certainly playing defensive tonight, Soka,” Alexandre breathed. “Is it because you know you can’t win?”

“Not at all,” Hisoka replied simply. “It’s strategy.”

There was a bubbling hiss below and Alexandre didn’t flinch as he felt the Hydra bubble and die. Hisoka casually dusted the dirt off his arm. He was sweating. A single glance showed Chrollo standing at the bottom, looking up. His danchou coat was torn at the shoulder. The seam had been slashed right open. He wasn’t bleeding. Around him was a pool of acidic waste, rapidly vanishing as the conjured creature disappeared.

Hisoka and Alexandre met gazes. This was Alexandre’s failing. He had made a creature with too much power. There was no stolen Nen to rely on, like Nox. It took a colossal amount of Nen for Alexandre to conjure one, and Hisoka was willing to bet that he maxed out at ten. Each one took the power equivalent to Axis, after all. Making more would be a risk, but the opposing risk was battling both Hisoka and Chrollo at the same time and relying on raw strength to overpower the Spider head and the Grim Reaper of Heaven’s Arena, not to mention his own personal assassin.

And he couldn’t escape. He’d seen the maze.

Alexandre was someone who took calculated risks.

Another Hydra spit its way into being, hissing and squalling, and lashed out at Chrollo again, who easily evaded its efforts, but couldn’t get close enough to liquify.

It was time to start wearing him out. Hisoka let him rush him again, danced back, ducked, dodged punishing blows. Alexandre was still holding back. He didn’t want to kill him. How sentimental of him. After all of this, he still wanted a toy to play with. Hisoka was determined to make him sick of toys.

There. An opening. Alexandre’s leg raised for a punishing kick, and Hisoka yanked. Cards whistled through the air, and he couldn’t move in time without risking a fall. His pants tore and flesh was ripped through as the cards buried deep in his leg.

Alexandre faltered in his balance, nearly fell, and Hisoka let a slow and steady smile split his lips. He found his balance and moved back. One touch from Chrollo could liquify him. He knew that. There was no stopping that. He couldn’t go on the defensive or offensive down there. But up here, all Hisoka had to do was hold out.

Blood dripped down onto the dirt. Alexandre was pissed. He probably couldn’t remember the last time someone landed a blow on him.

“Didn’t I tell you to not look so smug?” He hissed.

“But I have such a good reason,” Hisoka purred, and Alexandre attacked once again. Hisoka danced back, evaded blows, dodged kicks, ignored his pounding heart and the blood roaring in his ears.

Hisoka was terrified. Good. Where there was terror, there was strength. He’d been born from terror, molded by it, lived it, breathed it, let it make him stronger, pound him into the blade he was. And now he had become it. Because he knew Alexandre was terrified. He had done that to him. All the money in the world wouldn’t stop the entire Hunter Association from hunting him down to obliterate him. Even if he did survive, what would he have but a hostage no one actually cared about to save? Or, even worse, he’d have a hostage the troupe cared very much about to save. He didn’t even know how the twins factored in.

He was terrified. Hisoka had done that. Hisoka had become the terror.

A punch finally landed on Hisoka, split his lip, sent him stumbling back, and he grinned, eyes crazed. Below them, the second Hydra disintegrated and there was a flare of bloodlust. Chrollo hadn’t liked that.

Alexandre conjured up another. Too quick. Sloppy. For large conjurations, you had to breathe through it, expel the Nen like air. Nox knew that. Hisoka had beat that into their head rather excessively.

“My kid sibling stress conjures better than you, Alexandre,” he teased and wiped off the blood with the back of his hand. “You must not have had a good teacher.”

“Know your place,” Alexandre snarled and attacked again. Hisoka danced around the blows, got in a few of his own, and his cards sliced through the air again to bury into Alexandre’s back. The tightrope shivered precariously as his Nen swelled.

“I think,” Hisoka said calmly, “that we can clearly see where my place is.”

Alexandre attacked again, a flurry of devastating combos, and his knee caught Hisoka right in the chest, cracking a rib. The power had some worrying momentum as a result, and Hisoka pushed back, did three elegant near handed backflips to save his rib from further cracking, and came to a halt. Saved. He never fell.

“You’re so worked up,” Hisoka teased. It would take a lot of bleeding to down him. Below, the second Hydra died. A third, less sloppy one came into being. Chrollo still wasn’t bleeding. He’d abandoned the coat. Had the circumstances been different, Hisoka would be watching gleefully.

He needed to hit some arteries. The bleeding was taking too long, and Hisoka didn’t want Chrollo to get bit, despite the fact that he could take it.

Alexandre went after him again. There was nothing he could do about the cards short of take out the dealer, and Hisoka was proving difficult. As per usual. The pain was starting to blossom. Hisoka blocked and dodged blow after blow, hellbent on getting him off guard, getting him open. He guarded his right side, knowing that if he punctured a lung help would be a long ways away.

Another hit landed on him. His arm cracked and Hisoka felt something similar to an awakening.

When his hatsu was discovered, he had been kept only because he could perform ballet on a tightrope. It had never been done before. He brought in crowds. It was funny how those forced, four times daily performances had laid the groundwork for this, this final fight to the death on a tightrope. Hisoka felt his body start moving like the dancer he had once been. Fluid. Graceful. Somehow the pain only made it easier. There was a song no one could hear as he dodged and blocked and moved and spun to avoid Alexandre’s punishing blows.

There. An opening. Alexandre’s eyes were drifting and Hisoka knew he was seeing an eleven year old on a tightrope. Cards cut through the air and embedded in his shoulder. Bright red blood sprayed out and he swore, clapping a hand over the wound. Another. A volley whipped out to fill up his other shoulder as his Hydra died again. Another volley. Femoral artery. Carotid artery. The aorta. Subclavian artery. Another, and another, and another.

Alexandre staggered as blood splattered Hisoka’s hands, arms, shoulders. The world slowed, and then he fell. Hisoka felt like he was watching him sink into the ocean. His eyes were locked on Hisoka’s face. He looked surprised.

He crashed. Hisoka stuttered. How long had it been? An hour? Two? He wasn’t sure.

His Bungee Gum dissolved and he fell, too. The ground rushed up and he stared at red, red fabric. How many times had he stared at this ceiling? Panting, breathless as the music came to an end?

He didn’t hit the ground. He fell into firm arms. He couldn’t even manage a groan of pain. Black eyes stared down at him and Hisoka stared back.

Their heartbeats synched again. Here Chrollo was, with him, at his moment of triumph. Chrollo had come to help him finish. He had all of the power in the world and he had let Hisoka fight his own fight, sidelined himself to drain Alexandre’s Nen so Hisoka could do what he needed to do. How far he had come since that night in the Jeep.

Chrollo set him down and Hisoka pressed a hand to his broken rib. No punctures from the fall. Good.

A low groan rose up from the ground. Hisoka felt like he was walking in slow motion. Chrollo let him go to approach the still form. It didn’t feel real. Was he in a dream? This couldn’t be real.

Alexandre’s eyes were fading. There were tears there. Hisoka fell to his knees at his side, watched him struggle to inhale, struggle to exhale. He was dying. Had Hisoka not planned to the T, arranged everything in his favor, this would not be happening right now. This wouldn’t be the body on the ground.

Alexandre looked up at him, lifted his hand, just shy of touching Hisoka’s cheek. Hisoka didn’t stop him.

He’d done horrific things to him. He had created the largest and most insidious organization the world had ever seen. He had made Hisoka’s life a living hell. He hadn’t taught him to read, or write, or how to ride a bike. He hadn’t made him blow his nose when he had a cold, given him medicine.

He had tormented him. Violated him. And he had done worse to the twins. Hisoka hated him. He hated him more than anything on this planet. He needed to die, to give countless survivors peace. To give Hisoka peace.

He was still his dad.

He’d wanted to rip his heart out. Carve him into pieces.

_ “Shhh, don’t cry. It’s just a scraped knee. Come on back up here. You can get it this time.” _

Bloody fingers touched Hisoka’s cheek.

“Soka…” He sounded like a man that was dying. “You got …” Cough. He was dying. “So big…”

Words flashed in Hisoka’s mind, words from years ago, when he asked Nyx if they could control it, if they would be okay.

_ “I’m not interested in being put down like a dog because I believed I was a god.” _

His little Nyx. His little Nox. They were the ones that got so big. And they were counting on him to quiet their hell.

Hisoka couldn’t watch anymore, couldn’t hear the words Alexandre was trying to say. He couldn’t, because he wanted to believe it was real. He still wanted. The card in his hand flashed. Blood sprayed across his face as he cut his throat to the bone at the base. He’d felt nothing, in the end.

It was never real.

It felt like there should have been a clock in the background. He should be in Neverland. He should never have grown here, to this moment. Perhaps Ky’ia really was here. Alexandre was staring at the ceiling. The twins had once told him you couldn’t find the Path if your eyes were open. Why were his hands shaking as he shut his eyes? Why was he closing them at all?

Hisoka brushed the blood off from the card, brushed off the Texture Surprise on the back, stared at the picture staring back at him.

Smiling. They had been smiling that day when he took it. The Morrows. All together. A real family. Not the one of red tents and muffled screams. A real one, that went to secluded beaches and ran from him when he tried to put sunscreen behind their ears. Maybe they could go to a public one next time. That would be nice.

“Hisoka.” Chrollo finally came up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed just a little. “Let’s go home.” He was whispering. Soft, steady, patient.

Hisoka did deserve this. He did.

“Yeah,” Hisoka said thickly and stood painfully. “Home sounds good.”

It had all started here, in this tent. And now it was ending, letting him usher in a new life with Chrollo’s hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took a long time to build up to! I really had to sit and think long and hard about what killing Alexandre would look like for Hisoka and take into account their history. I hope I did it justice. I think it would be something more complicated than just "I hate him with every fiber of my being", even though he did. It was a delicate subject matter to approach and I hope I did it right.
> 
> Only two chapters left! Thank you all so, so much for reading my work. And a big thank you to berita, my beta reader who stuck it out with me.
> 
> tumblr: themorrowfam


	72. The Sushi and The Smoothies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ring busters meet one last time (for now.)

They all met one last time. Twenty seven people in a room, counting Ging, Gon, and Kalluto. It had been a week since the strike, and today the general public was finding out the truth of what had happened. They thought it was a terrorist attack. Hunter publicists had scrubbed evidence of Nen from the files and handed them to local law enforcement, prepared a statement for Cheadle to give to the public.

Hunters were calling them the Ring Busters. Conspiracies were flying around wildly as they tried to get all of their names, figure out who had done what and who gathered all of the evidence. They didn’t know about Hisoka or his relation to the twins yet. They didn’t even know what to make of non troupe members and non Hunters being involved, let alone why the Spiders had done it.

They didn’t understand the most important quality of being a Spider was the ability to say, “fuck it, I’ll do it myself.”

They’d find out in two months, when the twins passed the Hunter Exam under their real names. The public would find out eventually. They just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet for the moment, tell the world on their own terms who the fuck they were and what the fuck they did.

But this was nice, the twenty five of them packed into a banquet hall with chopsticks flying left and right as they devoured the sushi spread. Nyx had gotten their hands on a phenomenal mango green smoothie recipe and promised to introduce Nox to the maker soon, when everything died down and they could go back to Deylin. And Nox told them about the group of Hunters they had met in the chaos of York New, told them about how Hanzo spoke to Justice, and Nyx understood immediately.

It was amazing how losing their shared pain only drove them closer together.

All of the teams were squashed together, memories of them being troupe and Hunters forgotten as they all shared the same experience, the same memories. Nox was happy, signing animatedly to Morel for translation so Hisoka could take a break. Chrollo and Hisoka were pressed together, all dark clothes and bright colors as Hisoka jumped in and out of the conversation. He was still black and blue, but it didn’t upset Nox as much as they thought it would. Shoot was gushing to Knuckle about meeting Cordelia and seeing the leftovers of her devastating hatsu and how she made the  _ best _ casserole. Gon was enraptured about the descriptions of her and delighted that Nox had met the man that broke his arm. He was a weird kid.

Even Ging seemed decently comfortable in the setting. Nox watched as he leaned over to whisper in Gon’s ear. Gon paused, looked around in awe at the ragtag crew, and then grinned up at Ging with all the love and adoration in the world. It was good Ging was spending more time with him. Gon had lost so much of the stress and tension he carried like a log ten times his weight. He kept attributing it to the twins, but they hadn’t really done much of anything. He was already on his way. All he needed was a little nudge in the right direction and some of Hisoka’s cocoa.

And then there was Feitan, pressed up against Franklin and half asleep. Feitan and Ky’ia both had surpassed Nox’s expectations. They hadn’t expected him to be so angry, and it was touching.

Nyx was right. A month spent living together in such situations really did lead the way to love. Nox reached down and gingerly pressed a finger to his head. Feitan looked up, blinked blearily, and they smiled brightly at him.

“ _ I love you, _ ” they signed. He knew what it meant. Morel didn’t translate. Nyx caught it and smiled. Hisoka did, too, and hid one himself.

Feitan gave them a rare, beautiful smile.

“ Wǒ yě ài nǐ, ” he replied, and Nox knew just enough to catch the gist.

_ “I love you, too.” _

Nox straightened up and slipped down from Franklin’s shoulder to press into Feitan’s warmth, as gingerly as they could. He was still looking a little yellow. And then they rested their head on his shoulder and kept sipping on their smoothie.

It was nice, this. Things had gone perfectly, and they were now realizing they could have anything they desired. They’d done more than earned it.

The Morrow group chat pinged with a notification from Hisoka. Nox opened it and smiled.

**I was thinking a little vacation. Just the three of us. Week at the beach?**

**I’m good with that. Nyx?**

**We can probably send Klaus with Ky’ia to the mountain so they’re not left out and can visit their family.**

**Maybe he can actually teach them to drive lol**

**Shut up.**

**Xoxo**

A vacation sounded really nice. The Morrows started out with just each other. Nox had never imagined that it would grow into this packed banquet hall with childish chopstick fights and spilled soy sauce. It was odd to realize home could be anywhere, with anyone, so long as you were willing to try.

They were home, and it was only going to get bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!!! Just one more chapter to go!! I'm sorry for the late upload I was down with a sinus infection and a concussion and a shoddy internet connection. I'm actually uploading from my phone and let me tell you. This doc took awhile to load. I'll be uploading the final chapter immediately after this one! Please leave comments to tell me how you felt about my fic/if you've been sticking through! It would mean so much to me and I'll be sure to respond!!


	73. Justice And Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little girl named Justice finds new heroes.

Justice had found her dad. In the two months since they’d been reunited, it had been hard. She hadn’t cried. He had. She had been missing for a full three years. In those years, her poor, forgotten, penniless father no one would help had trained. And trained. And trained. And he had become a Hunter with the sole goal of finding her and bringing her home. He’d been a Hunter for nearly one year when the Ring Busters had made their move.

It was awkward at first. Justice seemed so much older. She had gotten so big. And she had aged in her heart. She didn’t like to be touched much. The weekly therapy sessions had helped. The fundraiser for the lost children was almost entirely driven by Hunter money. Hundreds of thousands of jenny had been donated by individual Hunters, and even more donated by the Association. There was already a scholarship fund in the works.

The who was still a mystery. The troupe had denied any work that wasn’t done in the month leading up to the strike. The Hunters involved had made it clear they were only brought in a week before, and the undercover agents would speak when they felt like it.

Justice was certain she had met one. Nox. The one with the birds in the mansion. The one that didn’t speak that none of the other Hunters knew. She didn’t speak of it, though. Nox had cried when they saw her, and she knew they were different tears than the loud and boisterous Jules.

She’d seen them again, one last time, gazing at the tent from a motorcycle on the other side of the road. They just sat and watched. Justice stared back. Somehow, she just knew. There was a kindred spirit there.

She’d asked her dad a few weeks ago if he’d ever heard of a Hunter named Nox. He’d shrugged, said he didn’t know many other Hunters, after all there were 600 odd of them, asked why. She wouldn’t say.

Justice knew about Nen. She had learned about it in her three years of being away from home. Many “clients” used Nen. They openly used it in front of the children. After all, they would die soon. The secret would stay safe. Nox was with Morel, who she had learned was a Double Star Hunter and therefore very skilled, well known, and prominent. And she had studied the York New strike, despite her dad telling her not to, telling her that she would only get worked up, that Georgia, her therapist, had said so. Justice did it anyways. Nox, she was certain, was half of the pincer movement, she had learned what a pincer movement was from her dad’s friends, and capable of performing on Morel’s level, otherwise they wouldn’t have been there. So he should have known who they were.

Justice was ten. She was a very smart ten year old. She had to be, to make sure no one got angry with her. She was older than her age. Her dad wanted her to start acting like a kid again, but there was just something … unfinished. Something she needed to take that step. She didn’t know what it was. He said it would take time, that he would be here, that he loved her. Justice couldn’t manage any tears. It had been two months and she was still a little numb.

It was the fact that she was so smart that was leading her to stare at her dad on the couch now. He had been reading the same thing over and over again on the tablet for an hour now. His body said he didn’t know how to react.

“Can I read it?”

“What, honey?” He looked surprised that she was there, standing in the kitchen door.

“That thing you keep reading.” Her dad looked a little lost. He was a little older, too. He didn’t look like himself. They had always been happy together in their little worn down apartment with a rattling water heater that only worked half of the time. That happiness had kept the stress of poverty and providing for her at bay, kept the worry lines from forming. Now he had bags under permanently bloodshot eyes and wrinkles all over his forehead.

“Oh, it’s Hunter stuff. No need to worry about it, Jus.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“I am, huh?” His lip half quirked, but he couldn’t manage to work it into a smile.

“You look like that when I come back from therapy. Can I read it?”

Her dad studied her. He looked like he was going to cry. He was crying a lot nowadays, when he thought she couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. Justice had developed very good ears. She heard him on the phone with a friend when she was supposed to be asleep, babbling about how she wasn’t okay, he didn’t know how to help, didn’t know what to do, how he wished her mom was still alive to guide the way, how she still hadn’t cried. He was trying to hide a lot from her. It wasn’t working, but for some reason she didn’t know how to feel guilty. She shouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t her dad’s. He had done everything he could, put himself through an exam that could have killed him, for her, and that made her want to cry because she had forgotten someone loved her, but she just didn’t know how. She’d forgotten what it felt like, somewhere along the way.

“Come sit down,” he said quietly and she obediently sat on the sofa. He handed her the tablet. She stared down at it and started to read.

**My name is Hisoka Morrow. I’ve been watching the forums. I’ve seen your conspiracy theories as to how I wasn’t involved, how I escaped detection, how I must have been involved, considering where I came from. Only one of you came close. After two months, it’s time for full disclosure.**

**It was me. And it wasn’t me. I am from Ringley Circus, yes. But what many of you don’t know is that I was sold at the age of five to Alexandre. I escaped at the age of twelve. From there I went on a killing spree of former clients. I don’t know how many. It lasted four years, and the only reason it did was because Alexandre considered me his son, or some twisted version of it. It was then that I was approached by Daiten, a former Hunter, now deceased. He taught me how to channel that rage, and at the age of sixteen I became an unofficial Blacklist Hunter, unrecognized by the Hunter Association. I tailor made a personality, a persona that enabled me to return to the ring in the capacity of Alexandre’s unofficial assassin that cleaned up his loose ends and potential leaks. I made a lot of sacrifices to ensure that persona remained intact. I was never able to save anyone. I kept records of everything.**

**Daiten died when I was eighteen.**

**I was alone after that.**

**This is when you all begin to wonder who the other two agents were.**

**I found them when they were twelve. I didn’t save them. They saved themselves. They were dying, and I suppose you could say they were the one compromise I could make. Everyone would think they were dead. There were no survivors, no witnesses. It was just me and the twins, Nox and Nyx. They were Gemini twins, procured for the ring by Uvogin for the most sadistic clients. At the time, they were injured to the point where they were unable to walk, missing their tongues, and I was able to help them master Nen to the point where they could stabilize their broken pelvises, learned sign so we could talk to each other, so they could have a language. I say this with a sense of pride. I would caution anyone to never, ever pity them.**

**After that it became the three of us. They were a secret, my younger siblings. They took my last name. I raised them. They always had the option of leaving, trusting me to finish, but they never took it, and if I turned them out they would have done it anyways. It was as close as I could get to keeping them safe from themselves.**

**This wasn’t three highly trained Blacklist Hunters. It wasn’t a massive operation. I funded it on my own with my jobs. We powered on together. I went out and got the information, Nyx compiled and built on it, Nox provided the brute force when we could apply it. We were just three survivors hellbent on taking down the people that used us. It wasn’t about honor, or morality. We did a lot of dishonorable things. A lot of bystanders had to die.**

**Ultimately, I think the reason for why we were able to continue for a decade with no help, no support, no assistance, no sign of ever being able to win, was because we believed that no one could protect us, and so no one could protect them. So we decided to do it ourselves. Because no one else had.**

**We don’t really care about many people. We won’t be doing something like this again. We aren’t heroes. We aren’t people driven by the idea of doing the right thing. If we were, we would have been killed, and we know that.**

**It’s rather ironic that we only faced breakthrough when the troupe muscled their way in and forced us to let them help. Of course, there was a choice, but they knew as much as we did that we couldn’t allow them to go on a caped crusade on their own. They didn’t have our skillset. They didn’t have our information and research. They didn’t know where to step or risk springing a trap. None of them had been ring survivors. They just knew that Meteor City had been a supply point for years and they weren’t going to abide it. The entire reason they had initially formed was to protect the city, after all.**

**Selfish reasons aside, they had enabled us to have the manpower to gather the time sensitive information to have the breakthrough we had struggled to get for years.**

**The twins are taking the exam right now. We agreed that I would post this, let the chatter and chaos die down before they come back.**

**We all went into this knowing it would be hell. We knew the years of not being able to beat down our demons despite putting our all into it, consistently, every day, would ultimately morph us into bad people. We knew we had to be bad people to manage it. It wouldn’t take someone making the right choices, sparing the good people because you “shouldn’t” kill someone who will just be tortured and killed when you walked away, taking the moral high ground. Someone who was a good person to the core could never do what we’ve done. We know because we’ve seen them fail over and over again. Alexandre’s power extended to being able to have all of the pharmacies in an area run out of insulin for weeks until a diabetic died. Car accidents, drunk drivers, a stray drone knocking someone from a balcony, he’d managed it all.**

**We did this so they wouldn’t have to. The survivors coming out of this aren’t going to have to do what we did because it’s done. It’s over. They can move on with their lives. They can get the help we needed years ago. In ten years there won’t be another trio of ring survivors hellbent on doing the job no one did for them because it’s already finished.**

**I’m not saying that some of them won’t turn out like us. Sometimes it’s unavoidable. But we wanted to give them what we didn’t have: a chance.**

**For every monster, there’s going to be someone ready to knock them down. We wanted them to pick those monsters, not be forced to kill the monster of their childhood. We wanted them to have a choice.**

**I’m not going to apologize for the damage I caused. I am who I am, and I will continue to be who I am. But I wrote this to say thank you. For a long time, we believed no one would protect us, so we made sure we didn’t need protection from anyone. And we did a good job of it.**

**I wasn’t going to make this so long, but I think you all earned the full truth. You didn’t just show up a month ago for a fight. A fight is easy. But I haven’t seen the Association rally like this since Ging got decked by Leorio at the election. You’ve all donated time and resources to making sure the kids are okay. I saw some of you take some of the kids whose parents haven’t been found to the park the other day. You may not think you’ve done much, but I want you all to be able to look at us, and look at them, and realize the full impact of what you’ve accomplished. You deserve that much.**

**P.S. Not that you’ll see me, but if anyone brings this up in the next three months, I’ll consider it an invitation to fight. Tread carefully.**

A tear splattered on the tablet. Justice was right. They had been a kindred spirit. Someone just like her had stood up, hit back twice as hard, brought it all tumbling down on their heads. Someone just like her had done it.

Another tear. It had been two months and she was crying.

They wanted her to have a chance. They were just like her and they had  _ done it.  _ Such powerful, capable people, had come from where she came from. They had done it and she could do it, too. They had sacrificed everything for a nobody like her and yet she was so close to them. She was like them. She wasn’t powerless. He’d said they didn’t have tongues, needed Nen to walk, and they did it anyways. For her. So she could do it, too. So she could pick the monsters she wanted to beat, so she didn’t have to be consumed by this for the rest of her life. So she could cry. So she could be a kid again, like Dad wanted, like she wanted.

Dad was watching her and a sob bubbled up. The tablet dropped to the ground and she threw herself across the couch to hug him tight. Sobs broke up her words as she tried to talk.

“I … I … I was so  _ scared!  _ It  _ hurt! _ It … It … It hurt, Dad, and … And … And the other kids they … they were so little! I had to … to … to be big and … they were so small and … and scared and … I wanted … I wanted to go home … I didn’t … I didn’t know someone was …. Someone was … Doing this for me …. Trying to bring me home to you … I didn’t know I could … get a little big and hit … hit them back and … and they weren’t even that big and … and … And now I’m home and …. I don’t … I don’t know … what to say and … And Hanzo said I was … brave but I … I felt so … I was so scared … And Nox was there. … I saw them … They were the one who got me out …. And I knew I knew they were like me but I … I didn’t think they could be … because I was so scared … I was so scared Dad and I … I missed you … I forgot what … what you looked like … I knew you were looking for me… I knew … But I forgot what … what you looked like and I missed you  _ so much! _ ”

She didn’t feel numb anymore. She was feeling everything at once. Powerful. Relieved. Sad. Grieving. Pained. Hopeful. Unable to allow silence to continue.

_ They had been just like her. _

Dad’s arms wrapped around her and his hand settled on her head and she just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into his shirt. He rocked her back and forth and it took her a moment to realize he was crying with her.

“I missed you, too, baby,” he mumbled into her hair, pushed it down, held her tight.

Justice’s shoulders shook and she burrowed in close.

She was home. She was safe now. She was safe, safe, safe, and it was all she ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so, so much to Berita for reading this for me and giving me feedback. I'm going to get a little emotional for a moment and then probably delete this note in a week.  
When I started this fic, I had been diagnosed with bipolar for three months. I wrote it in one month on the most insane manic binge I had ever been on in my life, August 2019. It completely took it over and I have no regrets. I'll admit it was mostly born out of a bit of spite about queercoding. Don't get me wrong, I love Togashi, but nothing's perfect. That's what fanfiction is for. I decided to do a regular upload schedule for multiple reasons. The chief being I needed something to look forward to, secondary being I wanted time to write at least two sequels, and the third being I didn't want to overload readers with ... Gods how many words is it now? I dunno. A lot.
> 
> Three weeks ago my life was turned upside down. My dad drove me to a crisis management center. I quit my job, moved out of my apartment, and I'm still struggling to break the lease. Literally everything collapsed. I kept it pretty quiet and under wraps. I didn't want people to know what happened. Less than fifteen people know. I'm saying this because it was so hard. So goddamn hard to hold on. I'm still struggling a little. And I'm also saying this to thank everyone that read. Even if you didn't leave comments. Even if you didn't leave kudos. The hits were enough. Basically only two things were helping me hold on until I broke and was able to ask for help: the fact that my cat needs me, and the fact that I needed to stick to the upload schedule. I haven't really finished anything in a LONG time. I didn't have anything to look forward to even longer. So thank you to everyone for being patient with me. I'm going to keep uploading the sequels so I have something else to look forward to, even if the two I have finished revolve around the twins and a mystery oc you all get to meet as soon as I upload chapter one.
> 
> So thank you again to Berita and the people that decided they liked my kind of left field take on Hisoka. I hope I did a good job. All my love - Benj.
> 
> Tumblr: themorrowfam
> 
> P.s. organcruncher on Tumblr drew the twins if y'all wanted to check that out: https://themorrowfam.tumblr.com/post/190846437823/i-am-still-screaming-over-this-look-at-them-all


End file.
